Amethyst and Amber
by terminal insanity
Summary: UPDATED: CHAP 6 UP! AU. After losing a bet, Ryoma finds himself part of a mysterious street tennis gang. He has no idea what their intentions are in making him join them, but it's only a matter of time before he finds out.
1. chapter 1

The sun was setting. It was a fiery vermillion orb skimming the horizon, casting flame-edged shadows everywhere. Ryoma trudged home, the brim of his cap shielding his eyes from what little light there was. The sunlight at the moment was too weak to actually do much harm, as long as he didn't intend to stare directly into it for too long, but he wore his cap low anyway.

Tennis training had been prolonged that day. And it had been followed by an extremely long lecture by the club's annoyingly long-winded team captain. And just when he'd thought he was home free, the tennis coach had decided to have a talk with him. _I'd like a few words with you, Ryoma-kun._

Those 'few words' had stretched out into an hour, almost an hour and a half. Ryoma had tuned her out after the first fifteen minutes. He recalled vaguely having heard her say something about well he had come along ever since joining the club, and that she was proud of his improvement—not that he was bad, because he was one of those people just _born_ to play tennis—and that in two years time, he'd most likely be team captain.

_Ryoma, I want you to be Seigaku's pillar of support._ Frankly, he thought that was just about the only thing of value he'd heard her say in the eighty-four minutes that she had been speaking to him.

He didn't feel like going home for dinner. At least, not yet. His mother was used to him occasionally coming home late for dinner, and sometimes, far too late for dinner. She said that she understood—Ryoma had no idea what she understood, since he himself hadn't known that there was anything to be understood—and simply told him to be careful when he was out at night.

He fingered the shoulder strap of his tennis bag. He was still keyed up from practice. He'd actually had a challenge today. There was one regular who never lost. _Never_. It wasn't the captain. The Seigaku tennis team's captain wasn't infallible. He was, however, a very nice guy whom everyone liked because of his easy-going nature and tact. They all overlooked his tendency to ramble a bit when giving pep talks and speeches.

He'd played that regular today. He hadn't gone in with any expectations. He knew his limits, knew his abilities, and he knew that he'd played well that day. He'd lost. Just barely, but he'd lost nonetheless. He _hated_ losing.

There was a public court nearby. It was open even at night, and everyone was allowed to play. Every even day was for doubles games. Ryoma didn't really like playing doubles. He preferred singles, since he had a tendency to go after every single ball. You just couldn't play doubles that way. But the endorphin rush was too much for him to just go home. Doubles it was.

The lights lit up the court bright as day. It was really quite late, and most of the players were packing up to go home for dinner. But there was a small group of people still milling around. He set his racket bag down on the bleachers and took out his racket. He didn't need to warm up much, since practice hadn't been so long ago.

He was retying his shoelaces when a large shadow fell over him. He looked up, a quizzical look on his face. It was one of the guys from the last group of people. He had reddish hair that curled out in a way that defied gravity. There was a friendly smile on his face.

"Hey, you want to play with us?"

Ryoma shrugged. "I suppose. There's no one else here."

"Great!" The redhead turned to face his friends and called out loudly, "Ochibi says he'll play with us!"

_Ochibi?_ He snorted in annoyance. "I'm not short."

The others were just joining their friend. Ryoma watched as they drew closer and realized that amongst them, he really _was_ rather short. He would be seventeen in slightly more than six months, and at 170 cm, he was no pushover. But these guys were simply taller than him. He scowled.

"Nya, I'm Kikumaru Eiji!" He grabbed Ryoma's wrist and tugged the shorted guy reluctantly towards his friends. Gesturing as he introduced them, Eiji rattled off their names at breakneck speed. Ryoma could barely keep up.

Sensing his confusion, one guy with amazingly green eyes stepped up and laid a hand on Eiji's shoulder. "Eiji, you talk too fast sometimes." He laughed. "You forget that not everyone is used to your speed of conversation."

The redhead immediately calmed down a bit. He smiled sheepishly up at the green-eyed guy. "Yeah, whoops." Turning his attention back to Ryoma, he shrugged. "Sorry, my bad." Then he proceeded to repeat what he'd said, but at a slower pace.

"This is my best friend, Oishi Syuuichirou." He beamed at Oishi, who raised a hand in semblance of a wave. "And this is Momoshiro Takeshi."

"Yo." He had jet-black hair spiked up—rather like a broom, Ryoma thought snidely—and eyes like amethysts. Ryoma stared at those jewelled eyes. He'd never seen a shade like that outside of a jewellery shop. Momoshiro winked at him and he blinked owlishly in stunned reply. Embarrassed at having been caught staring, he looked away.

"And that's Kaidoh Kaoru. Ne, Kaidoh-kun, stop hiding in those shadows. Ochibi won't be able to see you."

"Stop calling me Ochibi," Ryoma muttered darkly.

"Nya, you haven't told us your name." Eiji shrugged with a grin. "By the way, that tall guy next to Kaidoh is Inui Sadaharu. Don't drink anything he gives you," Eiji warned Ryoma in a stage whisper.

"Inui's juices don't taste _that_ bad," a new voice broke in.

Ryoma immediately turned to the source of the voice. He had never heard such a compelling voice in his entire life. It drew him in and seemed to wrap itself into every nuance of his mind. He found himself falling into a pair of sapphire blue eyes. Eiji's voice was a distant murmur, introducing the hypnotic voice and fathomless eyes as Fuji Syusuke.

"Fuji, stop staring at him."

The pair of deep blue eyes turned away.

Ryoma found himself blinking and staring at a brown-haired guy who, after himself, was the shortest in that group. As he continued staring, he realised that brown was too common a word to describe Fuji's hair. It was brown, yes, but it was a blend of numerous shades of brown that, when combined together, made a complex masterpiece of colours.

"This is Tezuka Kunimitsu," he heard Eiji say. He tore his eyes away from Fuji, only to find himself staring into solemn, bespectacled hazel eyes.

Tezuka watched the kid stare at him the way he had Fuji. When the kid had looked his fill, Tezuka looked away, breaking the hold his eyes had on Ryoma. The kid had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into. He wondered what had possessed Eiji to invite the kid to play with them. Eiji knew better than to invite random people to join them. He didn't like playing against people who couldn't hold their own against them. It was a waste of his time, regardless of the fact that they all had time enough to spend as they wished. Still, he gave Eiji the benefit of doubt and let Eiji introduce the kid to the last member of their group—Kawamura Takashi.

"We'll follow the court's rule and play doubles. Is that okay with you, Ochibi?"

"For the last time, my name isn't Ochibi!"

"Then what is it?" Eiji asked. "You never told us."

"Echizen."

"Nya? Only one name?"

Ryoma sighed, scowling. He was beginning to regret his decision to come to the public court. "Ryoma," he muttered.

"Hai, Echizen-kun! Ano… Let's see, Kaidoh and Inui were the last to play, so that leaves…" He smiled sunnily. "You get to play with me and Oishi!"

Ryoma shrugged. "Um, okay. Who am I playing with?"

"Me, of course!" Ryoma spun round to find the broom-haired guy behind. How'd he get _there_? "Man, this is gonna be such a fun match!"

Ryoma sighed and tilted the brim of cap further down. This was going to be a _long_ night.

Tezuka watched the kid walk onto the court with Momoshiro. He didn't know if Echizen was simply acting cool, or if he was naturally reticent. Kawamura was appointed the referee.

"Oishi-Kikumaru pair versus Momoshiro-Echizen pair. Oishi to serve!"

Oishi served. It was an ordinary serve, and Ryoma scowled. How dare they treat him like a little kid! Oishi was capable of much more, he knew. He'd felt it when the guy had looked at him. Momoshiro returned it easily with a smile on his face. He had aimed for the corner, but Eiji volleyed it easily, managing to hit it in a position Ryoma would have sworn was not possible. He ran for the ball, his racket already swinging back for the return, only to find Momoshiro already there. It was too late to halt the forward progress of his racket, and their rackets clashed loudly.

The silence stretched for what seemed to be a very long moment.

"That was _my_ ball!" Ryoma fumed.

"No it wasn't. It was clearly in my court."

"Look, I can reach it, it's my ball!"

Momoshiro glared at the obnoxious kid, violet eyes glittering with annoyance. "It was in my side of the court, it's _my_ ball!"

"Um, fifteen-love," Kawamura said, announcing the score, in the hope that they would resume the game. He was usually a very peaceable person, and he always felt uncomfortable when people fought.

Apparently, Ryoma and Momoshiro hadn't heard him. They continued arguing over whose ball it was and griping about how the other had stolen their rightful ball. Kawamura sighed in exasperation. He hadn't faced a problem like this since the last time Momoshiro and Kaidoh had play doubles together. Which hadn't been any time recent. Those two were bad enough playing against each other in a singles match. They provoked each other at every single opportunity possible. This was starting to look worse.

"Momoshiro!" Tezuka barked.

Momoshiro paused long enough to glance sullenly at Tezuka. He caught the stern expression on the older player's face and snarled at Ryoma, before returning to his side of the court. "I have no idea what compelled me to be your doubles partner for this match!"

"Hey, nobody twisted your arm and _made_ you play, you know!"

"What was I _thinking_ when I asked Eiji to invite you over?" Momoshiro took his place and glared at Ryoma once last time before focusing on Oishi.

Tezuka watched silently as the match continued. It was proving to be rather one-sided. It wasn't that Momoshiro or Echizen was a bad player. But there was no form of communication between the two. Both had exceptionally long reaches, and often, they tended to go after the same ball. And even when one of then managed to return the ball, one side of the court was left open, since they were both on the same side.

"One game to love. Momoshiro to serve."

Tezuka felt like slapping his forehead in exasperation as the same thing happened. After either Eiji or Oishi returned the serve, both Momoshiro and Echizen would go after the ball. Their opponents knew this and were exploiting this weakness to their advantage. Off the court, Eiji and Oishi were pretty nice people, but when they were playing tennis—especially playing doubles together—they were merciless.

By the time it was Ryoma's turn to serve, they were down three games to zero. Well, he was going to change that.

Momoshiro was scowling both inwardly as well as outwardly. When he had seen the kid earlier, he'd looked somewhat lost, and Momoshiro had felt compelled to cheer him up. He knew that Tezuka didn't really like strangers joining them in their late-night games, so he'd asked Eiji if he could invite the kid over instead. Eiji was older than he was and had known Tezuka a longer time. Eiji had been more than happy to help him. He was starting to regret his decision now.

_He's such a brat! He keeps running over into my side and then blaming me for getting in his way! Those balls aren't even in his damn side of the court! And I thought he was cute. Bah!_ He glanced back at Ryoma. "Oi! Serve already!"

Ryoma gritted his teeth when Momoshiro looked back and rushed him. "I'll serve when I want to serve, idiot!" Then taking in a deep breath to calm himself, he tossed the ball high up into the air.

Momoshiro saw the ball streak towards Oishi. It was fast, but not _that_ fast. Che, the kid was just an average player. Momoshiro was disappointed. He thought that there'd be something more in the kid. He'd sensed it. Now he wondered if it had just been his imagination. But then, the ball landed just before Oishi's feet and spun up towards his face. Momoshiro goggled at the sight of Oishi stumbling back to avoid getting a faceful of yellow felt. Amazed, he spun round to look at Ryoma. It must have been a fluke.

Ryoma was already preparing to serve again. And when he repeated his serve, Momoshiro was floored. The kid didn't look old enough to have perfected such a serve. Perhaps Momoshiro hadn't been wrong about him after all…

Finally, they won a game. Ryoma's serve had proved to be impossible to return, and when Momoshiro glanced over at the others, he saw Tezuka discussing something with Inui. And Fuji's eyes were actually open, his smile gone. That Ryoma was able to make Fuji pay close attention was something, since Fuji's eyes were usually shut and his true emotions hidden behind a constantly smiling façade. Momoshiro had known Fuji just as long as he'd known Tezuka, but he knew better than to underestimate the smiling tennis player. The guy was a total genius. Both on the court and off it. Momoshiro decided that if there was ever a person who knew the secrets of the universe, it would have to be Fuji.

They still lost in the end. Great as Ryoma's serve was, Oishi and Eiji were a combo even Tezuka and Fuji found challenging. And the given that the tensai and his stoic friend were the best players Momoshiro had ever encountered, that was really saying something. Had him and Echizen playing in synch, he doubted that they would have been able to beat Oishi and Eiji. But to lose to them six to one was just embarrassing.

Ryoma shook his opponents' hands. He knew that he hadn't played his best—who _could_, with that irritating, bumbling dolt that was his doubles partner?—but Oishi and Eiji made a _very_ good pair. It was as if they could read each other's minds. There was never a moment of hesitation on either of their parts, and their playing styles flowed seamless with each other's. Oishi's invisible rear guard complemented Eiji's showy acrobatically-inclined volleys. One tended to concentrate so hard on penetrating Eiji's defence that Oishi would be totally forgotten. Until it was too late.

He ignored Momoshiro and walked back to his racket bag. He removed a bottle and took a swig of water. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and noticed Fuji staring at him. More accurately, starting at his throat. He choked on a gulp of water and started coughing violently to expel the droplets out of his windpipe.

Immediately, Fuji averted his piercing gaze. Ryoma noticed that suddenly all eyes were on him. Never having been comfortable in the spotlight, he nudged the brim of his cap even lower, until his face was entirely shrouded by shadows. A passing cloud obscured the moon, until the court was lit only by artificial lighting. Standing on the fringes of the tennis court, their eyes seemed to glow with an unholy light. Ryoma blinked, shaking his head minutely. When he opened them again, the moon was back out, and those hypnotic eyes were normal, if a bit too stunning for his liking.

"I think I'll get going now," Ryoma muttered, as a strange sensation skittered down his spine. He started stuffing his things back into his racket bag, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Going so soon?"

Ryoma didn't make the mistake of turning around and getting lost in mesmerizing eyes again. He was able to place the voice as Eiji's. But the loud redhead's voice was more soothing than before, and more like Fuji's.

"It's getting late," he told them.

"But you've only played one match."

Ryoma continued packing his bag, still not turning around to face them. "As you can see, I'm not very suited to doubles. I'll only be wasting your time."

"Well, I suppose since everyone else has gone home…" Eiji put his hand over Ryoma's and stopped the teen from zipping the racket bag shut. "It should be okay if we play singles."

Eiji ignored Ryoma's protests and unzipped the bag, then pulled out Ryoma's red tennis racket. He thrust the racket into Ryoma's hands and casually tugged the objecting boy back onto the court.

"Now, who would you like to play against?" Eiji asked, his voice back to its normal loudness.

Ryoma thought for a moment, mentally sifting through the list of candidates. He certainly wasn't going to play against that oaf, Momoshiro. He wanted a challenge, someone who could help him improve to defeat that unbeatable regular player.

"Tezuka. I want to play against Tezuka."

Eiji glanced sideways at the bespectacled man who was unofficially their group's leader. "Somehow I don't think that would be possible." Tezuka was known for being especially selective in who he played against. Eiji couldn't think of anyone who had ever beaten their leader before. Fuji occasionally came close, but Eiji had never actually been witness to Tezuka losing.

"Well, it's Tezuka or nobody." Ryoma started to walk off the court again.

"If you can beat me, we'll leave you alone. But if you lose…" Ryoma was unable to resist looking at the owner of that voice. Once more, he was captured by glittering ultramarine eyes. "If you lose, I'm afraid you'll have to join us whenever we play tennis." Those spellbinding eyes slowly drifted shut once more, and Ryoma took a small staggering step back.

"What?" He blinked, not quite sure what he had seen in those mysterious eyes. "What kind of game are you playing here?" He narrowed his golden eyes in suspicion. "I'm not _that_ kind of person."

Fuji laughed, the sound lilting and musical in the night air. "No, no, nothing of that sort. We play street tennis, and that's that. But we're always interested in gathering talented young players into our group. After all, it gets rather boring playing with the same people every time. Wouldn't you agree?"

Ryoma snorted in reply. "It doesn't matter, since I'm not going to lose."

Fuji ignored the gasps of shock at his audacity. "Let's play this match out first, before you impugn my skills, shall we?"

"Whatever." He trudged back onto the court and waited for Fuji to join him. When all Fuji did was dawdle as he retrieved his racket, Ryoma felt his temper rise once more. "Backing out now?" He asked Fuji.

Piercing blue met his challenging gaze. He felt his throat constrict for a brief moment. But it was only for the fraction of a second that he found himself unable to breathe, and then the choking sensation was gone.

"I have to discuss something with Tezuka first, about this game and the consequences. Excuse me for just a minute?"

Ryoma snorted derisively in reply. "Then you should have done it _before_ issuing that bet." But he made no other move to actually stop Fuji—which was actually to his benefit, even if he didn't realise it.

He saw Fuji led Tezuka to a shadowy corner of the bleachers, and noticed that they were holding hands. Che, they were probably more than just friends and tennis buddies, Ryoma decided. Tezuka, he was certain, was the seme. And now Fuji was probably going to get more than merely an earful for his actions. Ryoma smirked.

He bounced the ball on his racket frame as he waited, letting the rhythmic sounds soothe him. It seemed more than the one minute that Fuji had promised before the pair walked out of the shadows. Fuji had his gentle smile back on, but there seemed to be a slightly feral quality to it now. Tezuka returned to where his tennis bag was, and Ryoma noticed that he seemed a bit dazed. _Damn, Fuji must be really smart if he managed to faze his seme like that… _He stopped playing with his racket and ball and caught the ball in his hand.

"Sorry for making you wait," Fuji said apologetically.

"Let's get this over with," Ryoma muttered under his breath, sure that Fuji couldn't hear him.

"Well, then, since you're so eager." He spun his racket. "Which?"

Ryoma judged the spin of the racket. "Smooth," he replied. He was usually right, and when the racket began to fall to one side, he was _sure_ he'd get the serve. But then it spun another half turn, even as it fell to the ground.

"Rough," Fuji's silken voice said, cutting through his surprise. "Bad luck, ne Ryoma-kun?"

Ryoma narrowed his eyes and studied his adversary. Had Fuji remained silent, he would never have suspected anything. But there was something in that mesmerising voice that said that Fuji had somehow rigged spin. He scowled at Fuji, knowing that he'd never be able to prove his claim. Frankly, he had no idea how Fuji had done it either.

Fuji smiled as he read Ryoma's eyes. Oh, it would be so much fun to defeat the little boy who thought he was so good. He wouldn't crush Ryoma entirely—he was too interesting for Fuji to do that to him—but he would teach the kid a lesson in humility. Who knew, he might even be thanked for it one day. He tossed the ball up, his form perfect. And then he brought his racket down.

Ryoma stared at his hands, and then at his racket. He tested the strings, found them to be perfectly fine. He spun round and stared at the ball. It was impossible. There was no way this could be happening.

It had been going so well, he'd had Fuji under his control, and the score had been five games to nothing. He recalled musing that perhaps Fuji had been all bark, but no bite. And then he'd delivered the smash that would win him the match, and everything changed.

At first, he'd thought that it was simply the shock of Fuji returning his smash. And five games to one was still a pretty big lead. But then the four game difference had shrunk to three. And he'd begun panicking when it shrank down to two, and then one. And then Fuji had drawn even with him and he was beyond panicking.

If Fuji scored one more point…

"What's wrong, Ryoma-kun?"

He spun back around to look at Fuji. His smiling eyes were shut, but then he slowly opened one a tiny crack, and Ryoma stared, frozen. He saw laughter glittering within the ocean blue, saw a faint trace of mockery.

"This will be the last serve, Ryoma-kun." Fuji shut that one eye and served.

Ryoma felt like a mouse with its tail trapped beneath the paws of a cat. He could run a bit, and just when freedom seemed within his reach, he was jerked back, and those clawed paws would be back around him. He gritted his teeth with frustration and determination. He was _not_ going down like this. He _refused_ to be toyed around with.

_There! An opening, a small one, and if I can get it…_

He aimed, his ball control was perfect, and the ball flew just where he wanted it to. He saw it hit the court, and Fuji being on the direct opposite end was definitely not catching up to it.

_What the fuc-_

Fuji sent the ball back, just skimming the net. He was smiling, but his eyes were open, and what Ryoma saw there for a second terrified him. He stumbled.

"Game, set, match. Fuji, seven games to five."

_I lost… I…lost._

Momoshiro wasn't sure if he was happy or not. Fuji had beaten Ryoma and in doing so, guaranteed that Momoshiro would be seeing him a lot more in future. But looking at Ryoma now, Momoshiro wasn't sure if it had been worth it. Still glancing at Ryoma, he walked over to Fuji.

"Ano, Fuji?"

"Yes?" Fuji paused for a moment in keeping his tennis equipment.

Momoshiro scratched at the imaginary itch at the nape of his neck. Fuji had always scared him, especially now, after witnessing his rather public humiliation of Ryoma. "I… I mean, it's not that you- I mean, I suppose he had it coming, but-"

"Take a deep breath, consider what you want to say, and then say it, Momo." Fuji grinned. "I promise I won't…bite. Well, not really, anyway."

Momoshiro looked back at Ryoma again. "I think… Fuji, don't you think you were a bit harsh on him?"

Fuji shrugged. "He was arrogant. He needed to learn that just because he's good, it doesn't mean that there aren't others out there better than him."

"He's young." _He's got everything, still, before him._

"Besides," Fuji continued, as if he hadn't heard Momoshiro. "You like him, don't you?"

"What?" Momoshiro turned back sharply to look at Fuji. He should have known better that to think he would be able to hide something like that from Fuji.

"I seriously doubt that I'm wrong, although I'm sure that's very possible."

"I…I…"

Fuji laid a hand on Momoshiro's arm. "Come, sit with me for a while." He led Momoshiro to a more secluded end of the bleachers. "You've never been like this before, Momo."

"I looked into his eyes, and I saw… I saw…" Momoshiro looked down at his hands, clasped tightly. "And even before that…" He stole another look at Ryoma, watched at the younger boy removed his cap to run his hand through sweat-dampened hair. "I swear, Fuji, for a moment there…I saw… I thought I felt _him_ nearby…"

Fuji didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Emotions were pouring off Momoshiro like water off oilcloth. "And the thing is, they don't even look the least bit alike."

"Don't they?" Fuji murmured. "Ryoma's eyes… He's in there, isn't he?"

For a moment, Momoshiro was silent. And then he spoke. "It's like he was alive again, when I looked into Ryoma's eyes. It's like he was standing there, talking to me. I'd forgotten how much I missed him, how long it's been since I made myself forget. They _are_ around the same height, and that attitude…" Momoshiro gave a shaky laugh. "Makes you feel like punching him and hugging him at the same time. It's infuriating, and at the same time, it's endearing."

"And you want him, don't you?"

"He's still so young… He's got the rest of his life spread out before him. I mean, he's still schooling!"

Fuji made a slight noise. And Momoshiro knew that he wasn't fooling anybody, least of all Fuji. "But you still want him…ne, Takeshi?" Fuji repeated, draping his arm around Momoshiro.

Momoshiro sighed and shut his eyes. In the blackness, he saw golden eyes sparkling with life and laughter. And amidst the merriment, he saw love, he saw peace. That laughter…the sound… He hung his head, knowing already what his choice would be. _Gomen__ ne, Ryoma.__ Maybe one day you'll forgive me, maybe you'll understand why I chose this. _He opened his eyes, and Fuji saw the resolution in his violet eyes.

"I still want him."

**A/N:**

_Finally_, it's done. I've finished the first chapter! I think I started this _months_ ago! -.-()()()()()()()

Okay, for starters, who is this mysterious 'he' that Momo was talking about? Hi-mi-tsu. Haha, meaning that I have yet to name him. I had no idea that I was going to write about him already, so I didn't give him a name yet. But be assured that I _will_ think of one in time for the next chapter.

I've just realised that this it the weirdest (or maybe the sanest…it means the same thing to me. -.-) A/N that I've written thus far. I mean, there aren't any ramblings in it, no complaints, and i'm actually typing this out at a decent hour. It's only about 10.20 p.m. here. Amazing.


	2. chapter 2

Ryoma grabbed his bag, yanked the brim of his cap down to shield his eyes from view, and then strode towards the stairs that led away from the tennis court. He wanted to go home, and he wanted to sulk. Today had started out boring, progressed to tedious, and was now ending off as plain miserable.

"Hey, where are you going?"

He didn't bother turning around or stopping. Not that he had to. He recognized that voice. It was, second to Fuji, the last person he wanted to speak to. A large hand grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me!" He exclaimed, wrenching his arm away.

"I was talking to you. It's kind of rude, don't you think, to ignore somebody and just walk away?" Momoshiro touched Ryoma's arm again, but gently, this time.

"Look, I just want to go home, okay?"

Momoshiro heard the almost plaintive note in his voice, and his heart ached. "Fuji shouldn't have done that."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm going home."

Momoshiro moved to stand in front of him. "I'm afraid you can't do that."

Ryoma glared at him. "So now it's kidnapping? I'm not going anywhere with any of you. I'm going _home_." He almost ran down the stairs in an attempt to flee, but found Momoshiro at the bottom of the flight of stairs. He spun around, thinking about using the other exit at the other end of the tennis court, but saw the rest of Momoshiro's friends waiting for him.

Fuji made his way casually to the front of the pack at the top of the stairs. "Surely you're a man of your word, Ryoma-kun. The bet was to win, or join us. And you lost."

Momoshiro looked up at Fuji, his eyes pleading with the older man to let him handle Ryoma. Fuji stood there for a moment, staring back down. After a long, pregnant silence, he took a step back towards the court. "We'll be waiting for you at the bleachers, Momo."

"It's just to relax, get a drink, dance a bit," Momoshiro told him. "I'll walk you home after that if it's too late."

"I've got school tomorrow."

"Then we'll leave earlier." Momoshiro sighed. "Don't make things so difficult, Ryoma. Don't piss Fuji off. Really, don't."

Ryoma snorted in derision. "Or what, he'll kill me and bury my body in an unmarked grave?"

"Something like that."

"Oh, get real." Ryoma brushed past Momoshiro, but was jerked back. He lost his footing and landed hard against Momoshiro. A pair of strong arms held him still, and he look up, scowling.

"Don't piss him off, Ryoma. I'd rather not have to see him punish you." He took Ryoma's hand in his strong grip and tugged Ryoma back up the stairs. "Come on, it'll be fun. If you really want to leave after we arrive, I'll walk you home immediately. I promise."

"I don't see why I have to go, then. I want to go home."

"You'll have fun there." Momoshiro didn't pause. He waved to his friends as they reached the top of the flight of stairs. "You'll see."

It turned out that Tezuka had a car. But it was a stylish convertible, and certainly couldn't fit nine people. And then Ryoma saw the sleek motorcycles. There were four of them, all different models and varying in colour and decals. Ryoma watched as Kawamura rode off on the one with bright yellow and orange flame decals running along the sides of the body. The one Inui straddled while waiting for Kaidoh to dig out his helmet was plain, simple black. But the simplicity of it seemed to suit both of them, Ryoma thought.

"Nya, Ochibi! We'll see you there!" Eiji called, and climbed on behind Oishi. Their bike was decorated with airbrushed smoke streams and electric blue lightning bolts. Eiji waved bye to Ryoma and Momoshiro as he clung on to Oishi with his other hand. When he turned to look at Momoshiro, he was already pulling out his bike helmet. He tossed his spare to Ryoma, who caught it and was blinking owlishly at the motorcycle.

"What?"

"You guys don't deal in drugs or something like that, do you?"

Momoshiro rolled his eyes heavenward, asking kami-sama for patience. "No, we're perfectly law-abiding citizens. Well, most of the time, anyway. It's just how we get around. Tezuka's car isn't big enough for us, and there was no way he was trading his convertible in for a mom car. Not that he'd chauffer us around even if his car _was_ big enough."

"Hn," was all Ryoma said.

"Come on, put that brain bucket on. Much as you've tried to prove it, I seriously doubt that your head is harder than the road." Momoshiro fumbled in his pocket for his key.

Ryoma stared at the tiger's-eye gold object in his hands, turning it this way and that.

"What are you waiting for?" Momoshiro sighed. "We'll be late, and I'll never hear the end of it from them."

"I _told_ you I didn't want to go," Ryoma retorted, not wanting to admit that he'd never ridden on a motorcycle before.

Momoshiro kicked the bike stand down and strode over to Ryoma. He took the helmet from Ryoma and looked the younger boy in the eyes. "If you've never ridden on one before, you could just _say_ so, you know."

Ryoma scowled and looked away. "It's nothing like that!"

"Oh, so you _have_ ridden on one before?" He heard nothing and saw the grim line that was Ryoma's mouth. "Didn't think so." He snatched the cap off Ryoma's head, enjoying the fleeting look of pure surprise on Ryoma's face, before the anger shielded it. He quickly tucked the white cap in his pocket and eased the helmet over Ryoma's head.

"Hey!"

Momoshiro tightened the straps to fit Ryoma's head. "If you're going to stand there like a doll, then you should expect to be treated like one." He slapped the back of Ryoma's protected head cheerfully and walked back to his bike. "Hop on."

Ryoma eyed the vehicle with great suspicion and scepticism of its transportational ability. The thing looked like it could topple over at any moment, and despite its vague resemblance to a bicycle, this hunk of metal was far heavier.

"There is _no_ way I'm getting on that death trap."

"It's perfectly safe!" Momoshiro glanced down at his watch. He turned back to Ryoma with a faintly snide look on his face. "Or are you such a coward that even a little thing like a motorcycle ride scares you?"

Ryoma stiffened and gritted his teeth. Hell would sooner cease to exist before he'd admit to that supercilious biker-boy that he _was_ afraid of motorcycles. The near accident he'd almost had with one as a child certainly didn't help at all.

"It's just not safe, that's all," Ryoma snarled. "Like _I'd_ be afraid of some modified tin can."

"Then hop on? We're already going to arrive last." Momoshiro started up his bike. He revved the engine a few times, waiting for Ryoma to get past his hesitation. "Stop being so stubborn!"

"I'm _not_!"

Momoshiro stilled for a moment, then turned the engine off. He strode over to Ryoma and tilted the boy's head up. "Ryoma?" He could see a faint glimmer of gold behind the visor, but it was too faint for him to read anything from them. He slid the helmet visor up, but Ryoma refused to look at him.

"Hey," he said gently. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." Annoyed golden eyes glared at him. "Good." Momoshiro gazed deeply into the flat gold of Ryoma's eyes. At first, they revealed nothing, but then slowly, something drifted free from the hidden restraints, and Momoshiro knew. He released this grip on the helmet and smiled gently.

"You could have just _told_ me, you know." He tugged the younger boy closer to his bike. "There, have a closer look at it. It's really not _that _scary. You won't fall off as long as you hold on tight. And I'm a _very_ good motorcyclist. You won't get hurt, I promise."

He took Ryoma's hand and ran it down the gleaming paintwork, fingers brushing along the polished chrome. And then he released Ryoma and swung a leg over the vehicle once more. "Hold on tight and I won't let you fall."

The joy in his heart hurt slightly—unaccustomed to it as he was—when Ryoma gingerly seated himself behind Momoshiro. He clenched his fingers tightly in the fringes of Momoshiro's shirt.

"Promise?" Ryoma asked in a small voice.

"Definitely." Momoshiro started up the engine again and felt fingers tugging in panic at his shirt. "Not like that, Ryoma. Put your arms around my waist. You can hold on better that way."

He felt the barely noticeable tremor in those lanky arms as they came around his waist and patted on hand lightly. "Hey, relax a bit, okay? I'll show you that a motorcycle ride doesn't have to scare the hell out of you."

They started to move, and Ryoma's arms tightened around Momoshiro's waist as he clung on for dear life. As they rode away, Ryoma wondered curiously why being around Momoshiro felt like he was in the safest place in the world.

They arrived at a club of sorts, and Momoshiro parked his bike beside the others. Ryoma glanced at the people waiting in line and their stylish, trendy clothes, and then back at himself, dressed in his rumpled school uniform. _School uniform_. Did they seriously expect him to be admitted into such a place in his school uniform?

"Oi, Ryoma, don't just sit there. Get off." Momoshiro kept the spare helmet that Ryoma was wearing and prodded him to get him off the parked motorcycle. When Ryoma refused to budge, Momoshiro sighed and massaged his temples. He could already feel an ache building up behind the bone. "What is it _this_ time?"

"There's no way I'm getting in dressed like this." He studied the simple jeans and T-shirt that Momoshiro was wearing. "No way _you're_ getting in either."

"_That's_ what's bothering you?" Momoshiro laughed. "We'll get in, trust me." When Ryoma still didn't move from his perch on the motorcycle, Momoshiro raised his eyes heavenward and simply lifter Ryoma off the bike, snorting when Ryoma flailed his limbs, protesting vehemently.

"Put me down!"

"Well, you were just _sitting_ there. Remember what I said about acting like a doll?" Momoshiro set him back down on the ground and prodded him forward by means of a hand on the shorter boy's shoulder. "Come on, I promise you that you won't be embarrassed, okay?" He said softly.

"I- Since when did I say I was embarrassed!" Ryoma replied hotly. His eyes were shimmering, like molten gold. And Momoshiro knew he'd hit the proverbial nail on its proverbial head.

With a grin, he nudged the scowling boy forward again. "Then I don't see a reason for your hesitation."

"I want my cap back first."

Knowing that the cap afforded Ryoma some sort of shield against the world, Momoshiro plucked the cap from his pocket, dusted it off and shook it back into shape, and then perched it jauntily on Ryoma's head.

Ryoma made a small sound of protest, but didn't really glare at him so much as give him a firm look, before readjusting the cap.

"Thanks," he muttered, angling the brim of his cap further down when he noticed the looks from a few of the people nearer them.

They walked towards the velvet-covered ropes that cordoned off the doorway, Momoshiro oblivious to the disbelieving stares aimed their way and Ryoma wishing he could melt into a non-existent puddle so that they would stop staring and muttering. He _hated_ it when other people gossiped about others, when the person of topic was right there. It was rude and insensitive, and Ryoma felt his temper rise. And then Momoshiro laid a calming hand on his shoulder, the gesture somehow soothing, comforting.

"Hey," Momoshiro murmured, looking down slightly at Ryoma. "Relax. It'll be okay. I promised, remember?"

Ryoma sent him a belligerent scowl, simply for appearances sake. The thing was—unsettling as it was—that the gentle sound of Momoshiro's voice, the light touch on his shoulder…he felt the tension slowly seep away, drained from his body, and he felt lighter. Hidden behind the shadows that his cap produced, he blinked, fascinated by what had happened. It was…odd. And of all people, it just _had_ to be the violet-eyed chunk of testosterone standing beside him that made him feel that strange sense of safety.

_Well, maybe it's because he's so tall and strong that really, who could go up against him and win? Yeah, it's got to be that. Around him, I'm _definitely_ physically safe from all the 'terrors of the night' that gives kaa-san all her wrinkles._

He found it even odder when the bouncer of that club greeted Momoshiro with a smile and a wave.

"Takeshi, hey, the others are already inside. They said you'd have a friend along with you. This him?" He asked, gesturing at Ryoma.

"Yeah." Momoshiro tugged gently on Ryoma's arm. "Hey, come forward a bit. He won't bite." He grinned. "At least, not _you_."

Ryoma stumbled forward, not expecting the tug. He found himself staggering into the velvet ropes, but a strong hand jerked him backwards. Momoshiro tilted his chin up and lifted the cap slightly to peer down at Ryoma.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Ryoma wrenched himself away and tugged his cap down again with a vicious yank, his cheek burning. "I'm _fine_," he snarled through gritted teeth. He heard Momoshiro snort in disbelief, and then exchange words with the bouncer. And then he found an arm around his shoulders, and Momoshiro was sweeping him through the doorway.

He had expected the interior of the club to be dim and smoky, walls vibrating with deafening music, but although it _was_ somewhat dimly lit, the interior was luxuriously decorated with plush furniture and thick carpets. The dance floor was a lake of gleaming obsidian, and the music, piped in at a discreet volume, was soothing strings and lilting pipes that lent an airy, ethereal atmosphere to the strange club. There were people at the bar, drinking, socializing, occasionally hitting on each other, just like any ordinary club, but somehow, Ryoma felt that it wasn't.

He allowed Momoshiro to lead him past a heavy-curtained arched doorway and into a deeper section of the club. There was a main area that looked more like an elaborate , circular western-style sitting room, than anything else. And then there were the numerous doors. Momoshiro walked to one, knocked, and then entered. Ryoma, not wanting to be left alone in the quiet, empty room, followed behind him.

The inside was even stranger.

"Momo, took you long enough," Eiji complained with a teasing smile. "Delayed?"

Ryoma wondered at the faint blush that immediately covered Momoshiro's face, and the embarrassed-angry look that flashed in his eyes. "It was _nothing_ like that! There was some trouble, that's all."

_Shit, he's going to tell them what a coward I am!_

"That chibi's head wouldn't fit right in the spare helmet I had, so I had to make sure it didn't fall off halfway."

_What? _Ryoma blinked in surprise. _He didn't…tell? My head fit perfectly into that thing…like it was made for me…_ He looked away.

Blue topaz, a deep, crystalline blue that colours the sky, the colour of the ocean's tears… With a muttered curse, he forced himself to look away from the captivating eyes. Fuji was _weird_. No _normal_ person could possibly have eyes like that.

"Saa, Ryoma-kun. Have a seat," Fuji said in that lethal voice, patting the space beside him on the well-cushioned divan. That voice was—if spiders could speak—what a fly would hear, as it flew by that beautiful, silken web. It was soft, gently beckoning,…deadly. Ryoma gulped, emotions warring inside him, On one hand, all his instincts were screaming at him _not_ to sit beside Fuji. But on the other hand, Momoshiro _had_ told him not to anger Fuji, and Ryoma could already see how intimidating Fuji could be when he _wasn't_ trying to scare. Or was he?

He was suddenly pulled off balance, and with a short yelp, he landed sprawled across Momoshiro's lap.

"Gomen ne, Fuji, but I'd rather have Ryoma beside _me_." The words were spoken seemingly carelessly, casually, but Ryoma could sense a formal undertone to it, as if Momoshiro was requesting something of Fuji.

There was a moment where everything went silent, and Ryoma couldn't help but be reminded of the calm before a disastrous storm. But then Fuji laughed lightly.

"Very well, then." He leaned closer to Tezuka. "More space for me and Tezuka, then." Tezuka rolled his eyes heavenward, but Ryoma noticed that he didn't protest when Fuji nuzzled his neck with a barely-audible purr.

And then Ryoma realised that he was still seat on Momoshiro's lap, and he tried to get off. Tried being the operative word. Momoshiro refused to let him off.

"Hey, let me go!"

"Ryoma, there _is_ no space for you to go on to." Momoshiro smirked. He gestured to the room, and Ryoma realised that every single seat had been taken up. "Unless you _really_ want to sit beside Fuji…"

Ryoma scowled and muttered something under his breath.

"Hey, I resent that remark!" Momoshiro retorted, deliberately jostling Ryoma, who nearly fell off his lap.

"Shit-" Ryoma reached out wildly and clung on to the nearest firmly fixed surface. He realised only after he'd stopped sliding off, that he'd flung his arms around Momoshiro's neck, and now the two of them were face to face. His eyes widened.

Momoshiro reached for Ryoma as the younger boy started sliding off his lap. He smothered a curse with a mildly less offensive one, reaching for Ryoma before he hit the floor. He was stunned when Ryoma wrapped his arms around his neck, effectively anchoring himself to Momoshiro. He looked deeply into those shielded champagne eyes, wondering what he'd find behind the mask of flat gold.

He saw wonderment, astonishment. He saw a fleeting flash of fear, the growing embarrassment. He pushed past the remaining barriers and saw a hint of…attraction? Momoshiro wasn't sure. He wasn't as good at this as the others were. And then, he slid the cap off Ryoma's head and shielded the side facing Fuji with it. And then he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Ryoma's gently parted lips.

And with that soft touch, he was lost.

The hand not holding the cap slid up Ryoma's spine slowly, teasingly, and then Momoshiro sank his fingers into the dark, wavy locks of hair, the heel of his palm resting on the nape of Ryoma's neck.

Ryoma gasped in surprise and he took advantage of his open mouth to deepen the kiss. He saw only one thing in his mind, as he kissed Ryoma into submission. He saw only a deep, gold, exuding a gentle warmth like the sun's ray on a clear day. He felt that warmth spread closer to his soul, until he was almost sure that… And then Ryoma pulled away, breath coming in slight pants. His face was flushed a bright pink, and his golden eyes were bright with embarrassment. Only later, when Momoshiro was pondering over the events of the day, did he realise that hidden behind that furious mortification was a smidgen of arousal.

"Don't worry, none of them saw us," Momoshiro assured him. He didn't say it, but he was _sure_ that they saw, but when he directed Ryoma to look, they were all engrossed in one thing or another.

_Thank you, kami-sama._

Ryoma quickly looked—first—to Fuji, but the fawn-haired tennis player was busy murmuring and teasing Tezuka, a sly smile on his face. Inui was…showing Kaidoh a book?

"It's Inui's book of data—very, _very_ precious. He only lets a select few view its contents. Even _I_ haven't seen what's in it," Momoshiro explained, somehow sensing his confusion.

And Eiji was happily chattering to Oishi about…toothpaste? He looked to Momoshiro for an explanation to _that_.

"Eiji has this thing about brushing teeth. I don't even bother to pretend to understand it. I think the only people who do are Oishi, Fuji, and Eiji himself." Momoshiro grinned and shrugged.

Kawamura… Hey, where was Kawamura?

"Kawamura's not here." Ryoma frowned. "I bet he saw us and freaked out and left. Momoshiro, I'll _kill_ you!" Ryoma hissed.

"Hey, he didn't see anything," Momoshiro protested. "Ask Eiji." When Ryoma stayed silent, not wanting to draw attention to himself, Momoshiro simply called out, "Oi, Eiji, what happened to Taka-san?"

Immediately, all eyes were on them, and Ryoma squirmed uncomfortably.

"Taka-san?" Eiji laughed. "Oh, he went to get a new round of drinks. You two were so slow that we were almost done with the first round by the time you arrived. In fact, he left just as Ochibi found a place to sit."

Momoshiro was extremely grateful that Eiji was able to say the last part without grinning insanely and laughing. Sometimes Eiji could be really helpful.

"I need the toilet," Ryoma muttered, getting to his feet. But then Momoshiro stood up as well, and he fisted his hands by his sides. "Good grief, it's just the toilet!"

"You don't understand Ryoma," Oishi said gently. "This is no place for you to be roaming unescorted."

"The worst that will happen is that I'll get kicked out!" Ryoma snarled. "And it's not like I _asked_ to come here either!"

"No, that's not the worst that could happen—rather, it's the best-case scenario." Oishi put his near-empty glass on the polished table. "Let Momoshiro go with you, Ryoma. It's safer that way."

"It's okay, Oishi, let the boy have his freedom," Fuji chided gently. "Go on, Ryoma. Momoshiro does _have_ to play bodyguard since it's just to the toilet." Fuji waved his hand in the classic 'shoo' gesture, smiling.

"Geez, I'm going, I'm going…" He stormed out of the room angrily, slamming the door shut behind him. But once out in the cold, empty chamber, he stared at the multitude of doors. Perfect. He had no idea where the toilet was. Well, it _had_ to be _somewhere_, right? He tried the closest door on his left, but it was locked. Never mind, he tried the one after that one. Also locked.

"What's the point of having doors around if they're all locked?" He tried the one to the left of that, and found it unlocked, but when he peered inside, all he saw was darkness. Creeped out, he shut the door and half-ran to the next door. All of them seemed to be locked, until he came to the door directly opposite from the one the strange street-tennis gang was in. He tried the knob.

It turned.

He looked inside, as he had with the pitch black room. Oh, but this one was lit up. It was beautiful, like something out of a fairytale. Ryoma wasn't one to believe much in such kiddy nonsense, but the fantasy-like quality of the room seemed to draw him in. The furniture in the room was all either wooden or stone, beautifully crafted. Decorating the walls were framed paintings of seascapes, forests, lonely deserts, and ghostly plains. Hanging from the eaves were what looked like creeping vines, and when Ryoma touched them, he was astonished to find that they were real plants. But there was no sunlight in this room, and yet they looked like they were thriving…

He ran a hand over the smooth, but simple cotton cushion covers. They were embroidered with farm scenes and rolling hills and wide, open fields. There was also what seemed like a mix between a single bed and a very wide divan. It was large enough to sleep comfortably on, yet it didn't really look too much like a bed. Ryoma touched the flawlessly smooth cover. It was raw silk.

The room spoke of freedom and dreams of flight. It gave off a comforting feel, like being held in a mother's tender embrace. Ryoma was loathe to leave it, but he wanted to find the toilet, and soon, so that he could return and prove to them that he didn't _need_ their coddling and their treating him like a child.

_Child my foot! I'm going to be seventeen…soon! _He scuffed his shoe on the edge of the hand-woven carpet, and then regretfully saw that his rash actions had left a smear of dirt on the pastel rug. He decided he'd better leave, before he ruined anything else in that room of dreams.

He shut the door carefully behind him, as if afraid that the slightest bit of force would shatter the contents of the room. He tried the door after that one, and also found it unlocked. Hoping it was another room like the previous one, he stepped inside.

It was also decorated with a sort of…theme. But this one was a little more desolate. For starters, the colour scheme seemed limited to…greyscale. There was nothing there that wasn't white, black, or a shade of grey. Not a speck of colour. The furnishings were rather severe, either in wrought-iron, or carved granite, although they were padded with cushions for comfort. The walls were bare, save for wispy sheets of fabric that hung over the walls and from the ceiling, like fog.

But at the same time, it wasn't _completely_ depressing. Ryoma could get a vague sense of lethe in the room, like for a moment, time had stopped, and he could stop thinking, stop remembering. He sat down on a cushioned wrought-iron park bench and just let his mind drift for a moment. It felt…nice.

And then he decided to explore the remaining rooms. Hopefully, they'd be as nice as these two that he'd already been in. He shut the door gently, and tried the next room. As he'd hoped, it was unlocked. He grinned and wondered what surprise would be next.

He was absolutely _floored_.

It was…amazing.

Somehow, whoever built this room, or designed it, had included a small, flowing stream. It was only a little wider than one foot across, but it was running, water, not the stagnant wading pool kind. And occasionally, through the small gap in either end of the wall, a dried leaf would slip in, or slip out. In one corner, there was a small water feature, just a pile of rounded stones, sitting on a bed of small rust and sand coloured pebbles, with water pumped from a source to trickle over the top of the large stones. Nearby was a potted plant, the fronds seeming to lean down gently to swish against the wet stone.

There were hand-crafted frames hanging on the walls, each individually decorated. Each contained a small bit of nature, preserved forever. In one, there were pressed leaves, preserved such that only the tougher veins were left, set against a back ground of a simple, slight crumpled brown paper bag. In another, there were dried flowers, framed against pale silk, or satin. And another had sand-art on textured paper.

Like the previous two, there was a non-bed, but this one seemed more like a mattress on a raised platform. Ryoma could imagine taking a nap on that bed, drifting to sleep to the sounds of running water, the dreams of birds chirping and leaves rustling, the scent of flowers lingering in the air…

Out of the three rooms he'd seen so far, this one was his favourite.

He had just stepped out of the room, tenderly shutting the door, fingers unconsciously caressing the knob like a lover's hand, when he decided that surely the people at the bar area would know where the toilet was.

He walked to the arched doorway and swept aside the heavy velvet curtain and found himself back in the plush lounge area. As he walked up to the bar, he noticed all eyes on him. Unconsciously, he tilted the brim of his cap further down to conceal more of his face. Once at the bar, he tried to get the bartender's attention, but the man seemed to busy mixing up drinks to notice him. Finally, out of sheer desperation, he tried asking one of the people sipping cocktails.

"Could you tell me where the toilet is?" He asked one woman perched on the edge of the barstool. She looked harmless enough.

"Little boy, why did you stray from your companions?" She asked, as if she hadn't heard him. "You're not safe on your own."

He rolled his eyes, feeling the annoyance building up again. "I don't need a damn keeper, okay? I'm old enough to go where I want! Where is the damn toilet?"

"You still speak like a child, behave like one. Go back to them, where it's safe." She tried to shoo him off in the direction of the archway.

"If you didn't want to help me, you could've just _said_ so!" Ryoma stalked off in search of someone who might actually _lead_ him to the toilet, instead of spouting some sort of weird mumbo-jumbo.

He tried another woman—women, he'd decided, were the safer choice, since he looked too young to be hitting on them, and they weren't as aggressive as men—this one was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, baring one slender thigh and lots of skin.

"Excuse me, but could you point me in the direction of the toilet?"

She stared at him like he'd grown a second head, and maybe horns and a forked tail. And then she smiled, and it was _not_ a nice smile. "Shouldn't have strayed from your keepers, little boy. You'll get eaten up alive, if you wander around some more."

She leaned down, and Ryoma staunchly avoided looking at the ample cleavage she was 'accidentally' displaying. "Come a little closer, child, and I'll show you what I mean."

Eyes wide, he backed away. "Uh, I think I'll pass on that." _Nympho_.

She whipped around and glared at him. "What did you call me?"

"What? I didn't call you anything! I just said I'll be going along." He took another step back, deciding that perhaps women weren't as safe a choice as he had previously thought. Too caught up in watching the movements of the woman he had enraged, he failed to notice others in the large chamber also rising, and slowly moving towards them.

"I heard loud and clear what you called me!" She shrieked. "Little brat!" She snarled. "Want to know what I do to little brats who don't know their place?"

Now, Ryoma wasn't a coward. He may have fears for things like motorcycles (although that was understandable, since he'd been involved in an accident with one), and extremely deep, murky water where he couldn't see how deep it was, and even venomous animals (but then again, who _didn't_). But he certainly wasn't afraid of women. Neither did he believe in mistreating them. Under normal circumstances, he would have just walked away in a huff, but this woman…she had scary eyes.

He could see in them that she was planning on doing him serious damage. So he took a step back, and another, until he backed into something that was too hard to be a chair or sofa, but too soft to be a wall. He turned around to take a quick glance, and found himself staring at a gigantic hunk of male.

He extricated himself from the man, but was grabbed back roughly.

"Stay awhile," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Play with us for a little bit."

"No," Ryoma replied. "Not happening." He tried to wrench his arm back, but the man's grip tightened, painfully so. "Damn it, you're hurting me! Let me go!"

He was pulled back once more, and when he struggled, trying to get away, he felt a huge hand at his neck, urging his head up.

"You're feisty. I like it." He smiled, the twist of his lips an evil, mocking parody of a smile. Then he turned to the crowd around them. "Let's have some fun, shall we? He has abandoned his keepers, and wandered right into our midst. I say we enjoy this little stray sheep." There were murmurs of assent and when Ryoma looked into the crowd for help, all he saw were toothsome smiles and gleaming eyes.

_No, _no_! It wasn't supposed to happen this way! He was supposed to have found the stupid toilet and returned with some measure of pride and independence. He wasn't supposed to end up surrounded by a crowd of insane people, getting groped by some guy on steroids!_

"Fuck you all! Let me _go_!" He twisted this way and that, trying to get out of the hold, but those arms were like bands of steel, and he was only a sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old boy whose sole form of exercise was tennis. Now, he certainly wasn't scrawny, but there were only so much muscles that you could get from playing tennis, and tennis alone.

"He's mine first," the large man called out.

"He's _mine_!" The dagger-eyes woman protested.

"_I_ claim first rights!" The other woman declared. "He came to _me_ first!"

"But you rejected him, so that gives _me_ the right to claim him!"

Ryoma wondered, somewhat distantly, if it was going to escalate into some sort of freak bitch-fight, complete with biting, clawing, and clothes-tearing. And then the man restraining him spoke.

"He walked right into my arms, so I get him." There was a look on his face that dared them to challenge his claim. No one did. "Good." He stroked one finger down the column of Ryoma's throat, fingernail scraping lightly at the skin. And then he reached the collar of Ryoma's school uniform. "Ah, I just love a kid in uniform," he growled.

He undid the top button of Ryoma's uniform shirt, and Ryoma decided that he'd had enough. He jabbed his elbow hard into the tall man's gut, and then tried to wrestle his way out of that immobile hold. All he got was a cuff to the side of his head. Dazed, he went limp for a brief moment. When he was able to think straight once more, he found himself flat on a wide diva, cushions scattered all about the floor. Half the buttons on his uniform shirt were undone.

"Damn, you've got skin like a girl's." He felt a large finger brush his carotid pulse and turned away from it as much as he could. But one large hand cupped his cheek roughly and made him look straight into jet-black eyes. Those eyes were cold, unfeeling, like gleaming lumps of coal, like chips from the obsidian-coloured dance floor he had been admiring earlier.

"Got, really pretty eyes, too." And ryoma realised that his cap had fallen off, in all the ruckus. Again those sausage-sized fingers made another pass along his rapid pulse. "I think I'll mark you right…here." And those fingers stopped just over his throbbing pulse.

His face grew closer and Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut, wondering why he'd been so stubborn as to insist he wander off on his own. The ones who had brought him here, surely they would know better than him what would happen if he went off on his own. And he'd known that being around Momoshiro was safe. He might not have been as built as the guy straddling him, but he certainly looked like he could hold his own. And even if he couldn't, there was Kawamura. There was another guy who looked as immoveable as a mountain.

_Momoshiro, you promised that I'd have fun here, that I wouldn't get embarrassed. And on the bike, you promised that I wouldn't get hurt. _He clenched his fists, feeling his nails bite into his palms, when he felt hot breath on his skin.

_You _promised_…so where are you now?_

And just when he thought he felt wet lips on his skin, the sensation was gone. His eyes flew open, and he was staring into furious amethyst eyes that were glowing with an unholy light. The man who had been on top of him was lying on the floor, as he slid from the dented plaster of the wall to the gleaming tiled floor.

A/N:

I couldn't leave it as a non-con cliff-hanger, so I did a little bit of extra typing and got to the point where Momoshiro burst in. didn't feel like typing any Ochibi-rape (I only type rape fics when I'm 1. extremely pissed off—and you get rape that is more violent, than anything else 2. extremely depressed—where you get rape that is generally full of angst and hurt) so I got Momoshiro to go play tarzan/prince charming/uber-kakkoi tennis player in shining armour/loincloth/sweaty tennis clothes.

And I decided to have him hurl miscellaneous pervy guy into the wall.

As is well, and Momoshiro saves Ochibi-uke.

And now, I go on to type chapter 3. have fun reading, and don't forget to review. After all, I really _do_ get motivated to type when I read the reviews left behind. General comments are welcome, as are suggestions/observations (especially for inconsistencies, since I'm typing this at -glances at clock- O.M.G. IT'S PAST 6 IN THE FUCKING MORNING! O.O!)… flames will be ignored. Criticisms… well if I read them and decide that they're constructive, I'll keep them in mind, or else it'll go into the blender, where Inui will make his new batch of SUPER DEADLY TRASHED-FLAME JUICE.

Yes, I _have_ gone mad. I've always been insane, but now I've just crossed the border into mad. It's frickin' 6 a.m. wouldn't _you_?


	3. chapter 3

Momoshiro had felt an odd tingling down his spine moments after Ryoma had left the room, but he thought nothing of it. After all, the bathroom was the door on the immediate right of theirs. How hard could it be to find? At worst, Ryoma would have to try all the doors before getting to the toilet. He wondered which of the rooms had been left unlocked today.

_I wonder if he'll find _that_ one…_

"Stop looking so worried, Momoshiro," Eiji said, trying to ease the wrinkles from Momoshiro's brow. "He'll be fine. The toilet's only next door."

Kawamura came in only a few minutes later, carrying a tray laden with drinks. He cheerfully handed them out, passing Momoshiro his refill and patting his hand reassuringly. Momoshiro tried to smile, but truthfully, in barely a few scant hours, he'd grown used to having Ryoma's annoying presence around him. It _was_, after all, something familiar.

For a moment, while Ryoma was still out hunting for the lavatory, Momoshiro felt another strange feeling, but this one was…pleasant. It felt soothing, like a wave of water slowly lapping away at the edges of his mind, cleansing it of his worries. It felt so nice.

That feeling lasted a minute or so, and then was slowly, gradually replaced by fear and dread. Momoshiro tried to assure himself that he was just being paranoid, but when he found himself gripping his empty glass so tightly that the glass was beginning to crack, he stood up and said, "Fuji, something's not right."

At the exact same time, Fuji opened his startlingly blue eyes and said, in his calmest, smoothest, and most deadly voice, "Momoshiro, get Ryoma."

Momoshiro wrenched the door open, not caring that he almost tore the hinges from their sockets. When Fuji said something like that, and in _that_ tone of voice, it meant that something was _horribly_ wrong. He felt like there was lead in his stomach.

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

The doors were all closed, and then he felt the waves of emotion flooding his senses from the archway. And a terrified voice whimpered in his head.

_You _promised_…so where are you now?_

_Oh, kami-sama… Ryoma!_ He was in the main club area in a blink of an eye. Literally. And then he saw the man on Ryoma, and his vision turned flat and grey, and suddenly, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

He leapt forward with a feral snarl and wrenched the man off, hurling him into the far wall. He let his glance linger there long enough to make sure the fallen man would _stay_ fallen while he checked on Ryoma. He crouched down, and willed his eyes to return to normal.

"Ryoma?" He said softly. "Hey, Ryoma?"

Ryoma simply stared at him, eyes blank, shivering. He looked down absently at his partially-opened shirt and weakly grasped its edges closed. "M-Momoshiro?" He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, you okay, Ryoma?"

"I'm cold." Ryoma shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. He managed not to flinch when Momoshiro touched his shoulder tentatively. And then he was enveloped in a gentle, warm hug.

"Don't worry. I'll kill him if you want me to. It's over now, you're safe." Momoshiro kissed the top of Ryoma's head tenderly. "You're always safe around me, you know that." He tightened his hug ever so slightly. "You _know_ that."

"I know…" He heard the faint reply.

Momoshiro felt a faint shudder run through Ryoma's body. At first he thought Ryoma was still cold, but then he felt the smaller hands clutching his shirt tightly, felt Ryoma's entire body trembling.

"Shh, it's okay, Ryoma. Even if he's not dead now, he will be, when I'm done with him. It's okay now."

The tremors eventually lessened into occasional hiccupping shudders, and Momoshiro rubbed his back in slow circles, murmuring soft words of comfort to him, as well as assurance of impending doom to the man who had assaulted him. And then Ryoma pushed back a little bit to look up slightly at Momoshiro. Staring at Momoshiro's collar through tear-filled eyes, he managed a shadow of his usual scowl.

"He knocked my cap off," Ryoma muttered in a shaky voice. "That bastard."

Momoshiro grinned. "I think you look pretty cute without it on."

"I am _not_ cute," Ryoma protested weakly. "I _hate_ it when people call me cute."

"Face it, Ryoma. You _are_. Look up for a sec, will you?" Momoshiro stroked his hair gently. "Look at me?" He was pleasantly surprised when Ryoma did as told. His heart ached when he saw those normally stubborn golden eyes filled with tears and red-rimmed from crying. The dull shields were gone, and Momoshiro could see every hint of vulnerability and shame, as well as the lingering vestiges of fear.

He stroked his thumb over Ryoma's cheek, wiping away some of the tears dampening the soft skin. "Let me bring you to a quieter place for you to wash up a bit, get yourself back together."

Ryoma thought for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Okay."

Momoshiro cradled Ryoma in his arms and carried the surprised boy back beyond the velvet curtains. The others would take care of things until Ryoma was feeling a bit better. He caught Fuji's eye, and he nodded slightly, before returning to rounding up all the club's guests. Yes, the others would take care of things, and clean up the mess.

They'd also help him secure the bastard who had foolishly tried to claim somebody who was already taken.

* * *

Once in the circular chamber, Ryoma was surprised when Momoshiro strode to the door which led to his favourite room. Momoshiro set him down on the futon and shut the door. 

"Do you like this room?" Ryoma nodded, with a hint of a smile. "Good," Momoshiro replied with a satisfied grin. "Because it's mine."

"What?" Ryoma blinked, _very_ confused.

"Tezuka and Fuji own this place—although Inui might have a share it in too. We're allowed to decorate our rooms in any way we want to. This reminded me of…home."

"You're not from Japan?" Ryoma was even _more_ confused now. Momoshiro seemed as Japanese as Japan could be. Except maybe his eyes. Purple wasn't very common a natural eye colour in Japan. And there was no way contacts could look _that_ natural. Or that beautiful…

_Stop thinking weird shit like that! It's just the shock, it's just the shock, it's just the shock…_

"Sure I am, just…never mind." Momoshiro stood up and walked over to where a small basin sat on a shelf. He filled it with water from the small stream, and then set it down before Ryoma. "It's clean." He passed a pale blue face towel to Ryoma. "Here, you can give your face a wipe with this." He further tousled Ryoma's mussed up hair. "I'll leave you alone for awhile, is that okay?"

"Yeah." He looked up at Momoshiro with a faint smile. "Um… Thanks, for everything."

"No problem. It's…it's my fault anyway, since I was the one who dragged you here. I'm sorry. You don't have to come here again if you don't want to." Momoshiro was almost out the door when he heard a soft voice reply, almost a whisper.

"Then I'd never be able to sit in this room again. It's okay, I don't really mind this place."

Momoshiro could only stand and smile. "You're always welcome here," he eventually said. "I'll leave for awhile now. If you feel tired or anything, just go sleep. I'll be back for you."

And with that, he left, leaving Ryoma alone. Ryoma felt the loss immediately, but instantly, the warmth of the room, its tranquillity, enveloped him like a hug, creating a buffer between him and the fear that that threatened to return in Momoshiro's absence.

He washed his face with the icy water, which helped reduce the problem of red-rimmed, puffy eyes that usually accompanied a bout of crying. He tried just resting there for awhile, but he soon felt restless. However, he _had_ learnt his lesson on wandering around in this club, and so, remained in Momoshiro's room. He _did_, however, take the chance to explore the room a bit, and poke around in the drawers, shelves, and miscellaneous decorative items, all the while waiting for Momoshiro to come back for him.

Like he'd promised.

* * *

After leaving Ryoma in the safety of his room, Momoshiro stalked back to the main lounge area, where he was sure his friends had corralled and detained the patrons. The calm and gentleness that had returned upon affirmation of Ryoma's safety quickly faded, and the burning fury descended once more. His eyes, already relatively odd in its normal jewelled hue, sparked with rage, a faint glow projecting from a dark core. 

Eiji was patiently waiting there with Oishi and Kawamura. That he wasn't bouncing off the walls like he normally would be revealed just how serious he was being, and just how serious the current situation was. Such incidences had happened before, but rarely so, and even then, _never_ with one of their own. There was no way any of them were going to casually mark this off as a one-time freak happening. An example would have to be made. Just to make sure nothing like this happened ever again.

"Eiji," he said, tone silky soft, lethal.

"Ah, Momo, how is he?" Eiji asked, his voice neutral, knowing how volatile Momoshiro's temper could be when he was angered.

"He's calmed down." Momoshiro ran his fingers through his spiky hair in agitation. "Things were going so well until… I'll kill him, I swear I will, Eiji. That piece of shit made him _cry_. Ryoma doesn't cry just like that. He never did, and something like the passage of time will _not_ have changed that!" He fisted his other hand. "He dared to even _touch_ Ryoma… Where is he?"

"Fuji and Tezuka have him secured in _that_ room. Inui and Kaidoh are there too, not that Fuji or Tezuka really need additional assistance."

"I'm sure you and Oishi and Taka-san can handle it here. What does Fuji want to do with them?"

Eiji shrugged. "He just said to keep them here until you were done settling Ochibi down, and to go find him."

Momoshiro nodded and went off towards the room that they all _never_ specifically named.

* * *

It was dark, in that room. If a classy nightclub could have a dungeon, this was exactly what it was, and what it looked like. It was located deep beneath the actual club, and its walls were completely soundproof. Three of the four walls were painted plain charcoal grey, but the forth wall had been left white. Rather, it had once been white, but was now irreversibly stained in certain areas with patches of rust-brown. The colour covered the entire wall in splotches of all patterns and sizes. There were tiny, mist-fine specks, and then there were vivid sprays that arced almost the entire length of the wall. There were also huge splatters of it just…there. 

Had a normal person come across that wall, he or she would have found it interesting, maybe even an energetic work of art. But Momoshiro knew what it really was, and just how most of those stains had arisen. It normally chilled him to his bones just thinking about that room, but for the first time in his life, he felt nothing but grim pleasure as he entered it. He didn't even bother knocking. He knew Tezuka and Fuji would both gladly overlook it this time round, especially Fuji.

He saw, firmly chained to the stained wall, the man who had been molesting Ryoma, and he cracked his knuckles absently. And then he saw Fuji, casually lounging in a plush, velvet armchair, with Tezuka leaning against one overstuffed arm of the chair. "Saa, Momo's here, Tezuka," Fuji drawled, still not moving from his spot.

"Thanks for helping me out," Momoshiro said solemnly to them.

"Something like this can't go unpunished," Tezuka replied, his voice the same stern, indifferent tone that he used normally.

"What happens now?" Momoshiro asked Fuji.

"Ah, I forget that you hadn't yet joined us on all the other times we'd had to use this room. You aren't the first of us to need this room for such a purpose, Momo, but it _has_ been quite awhile since the last time." Fuji smiled, like they were discussing the latest tournament over a glass of iced tea.

"Fuji…"

"Mou, always so impatient, Tezuka…" Fuji reach up and back to touch Tezuka's arm lightly. "What you want to do, Momo, is entirely up to you. He violated what was _yours_. Tezuka and I are only here to make sure things don't get out of control. Inui will be back shortly. I sent him and Kaidoh to fetch a few items that I thought might…suit your tastes."

"So I can do anything I want to him?"

"Go ahead. Kill him straight out if you want, but that's no fun at all." Fuji's smile became predatory. "Toy with him a bit, make him realise what a big mistake he made in touching your little boy. Make him pay dearly for making Ryoma cry." He shrugged. "I could help you come up with a few ideas, but really, I'm sure you'd prefer to do things your way."

"Just try not to go overboard. We keep that wall unpainted for a reason, but I'd prefer the grey walls to remain relatively pristine. Fuji or I will step in if needed, but I think you'll know when to stop," Tezuka told him.

Just then, the door opened, and Inui strolled in, Kaidoh following behind him. Inui held a pewter flask in one hand, and his secret book in the other, while Kaidoh carried an innocuous black enamelled chest.

"Just set it on that table over there, Kaidoh-kun," Inui said, as he passed the flask over to Fuji.

Fuji removed the stopper from the mouth of the flask and sniffed its contents. He dipped a fingertip inside delicately and licked the trace of fluid away, while Inui stood there waiting, like a chef waiting for feedback on a new dish. And then Fuji smiled.

"Delicious, Inui. You've fixed the proportions just right this time." He handed the flask back to Inui, who grinned, light flashing off his glasses. "This should work just fine…"

Inui then strode over to Momoshiro, who was staring dubiously at the flask. There weren't many things that could make him afraid, but Inui's concoctions were definitely on his 'to fear' list. Especially if Fuji _approved _of them.

"Don't worry," Inui replied knowingly. "It's not for you. This is my contribution. Use it if you like. It's new, and it would be nice if you could help me test it out. Just don't give it to him in large quantities. Nothing more than a shot, or else…well, it won't be as enjoyable. It can be consumed, or it can also be absorbed by mucous membranes, and…well, just use it creatively. That would please Fuji too, I think."

"If it had been anyone else, I might have argued using your drinks as harsh, but he deserves it," Momoshiro snarled. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." He then slipped Momoshiro a small vial. "I think you know what this is. You know what to do with it, don't you?"

Momoshiro snorted. "Obviously." His small grin turned feral, which surprised Inui. He'd never seen this much malice in Momoshiro's eyes before. It would seem that Ryoma had produced several rather interesting changes in his collection of data. And of course, he'd have to record down the boy's data as well… So many things to do, but he had all the time in the world. He set the flask down on the table with the chest and various other implements.

Kaidoh finished setting up the table and various equipment on it, beneath it, and around it. And then he walked over. Momoshiro expected a snide comment or something just as irritating, but Kaidoh merely made his trademark hissing sound and muttered, "Ryoma's a good kid. Take care of him well. Protect him well." And then he disappeared deeper into the shadows, where Inui was hidden.

Momoshiro nodded, and almost smiled. It would seem that even his rival knew when to lay off the teasing. He strode over to the light control panel and flicked a few switches on. The lights closest to the white wall came on, blinding Momoshiro for a brief moment, before his eyes adapted to the brightness. He wanted his captive to see and understand what he had gotten himself into. But he left the back half of the room dark, with only one light switched on at minimum brightness.

He slowly walked over to his victim, his features twisted in a vicious snarl. "Do you know who you touched? Do you?" Momoshiro brought one hand up and grabbed hold of the chained man's chin. What had once been a fingernail seemed more like a claw now, and he touched the point of that claw into the soft flesh just beneath his jaw. He pressed, and it punctured skin. Blood began to bead from the tiny prick.

"He's _mine_, you fool. You even saw me bring him in." Momoshiro dragged the claw down towards his thick neck, and blood welled in its wake. "I'll bet you just assumed that he was only a plaything. You've lost respect for us. He's _not_ a plaything, but even if he was…" Momoshiro suddenly had his hand around the man's neck, this thumb on the man's carotid pulse. "He's _mine_, and what makes you think that I share?" He pressed the wickedly sharp claw on his thumb against that rapidly beating spot, breath hot in the man's face. "You held him like this, said you'd mark him right there. All I'd have to do is dig in, and you'd be dead. So easy."

He released the pressure slightly. "I'm not letting you off that easily. We're going to play for awhile first, just like you played with him, and then, I'll have my fun, since that's what you would've loved to have done with him. Only, you'll last so much longer than he would have. You see, it's never really been formally tested, but I've seen enough to know how long you should be able to last, and I have certain…items that could prolong that time." He ran his handful of claws slowly down the length of his neck and rested for a moment just above the breastbone. And then he dug a bit deeper and raked his claws down in a straight downwards slash.

He only elicited a furious growl, but Momoshiro smiled. "Don't worry. I'm nowhere as good as Fuji or Inui, which is why I'll have so much fun experimenting on what works best." He made another slash, a diagonal one from the left shoulder to right hip. "I'll make sure you don't miss out on the fun. I'll have you screaming soon enough…"

* * *

Ryoma shifted slightly in his sleep, and then gradually surfaced from slumber. He blinked owlishly, forgetting for a moment where he was. It was dark. He heard a faint rustling of clothes. Who was there! 

"Sshh, it's only me," a soft voice said. "I switched the lights off when I found you asleep. Do you want me to turn it back on?"

Ryoma sat up and ran his fingers through his sleep-messed hair. "Give me a moment." He stretched and yawned, and then sighed with contentment. "Okay, hit the lights."

The lights came on, but just enough for him to see, and not to blind. Ryoma looked around the dimly-lit room for Momoshiro and found him standing by one shelf. His hair looked a bit ruffled, as did his clothes. Wait. There was something on his clothes.

"Ryoma."

He flew to his feet and ran to Momoshiro, panic in his eyes. "Where is it? What did he do?"

Slightly confused, Momoshiro looked down and frantic golden eyes. "Huh?"

"There's blood on you." Ryoma touched Momoshiro's sleeves and one side of his shirt. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Momoshiro tried to laugh it off, but the laugh came off as too fake to fool anyone.

"Your hands," Ryoma mumbled.

Momoshiro looked down at his hands and his eyes widened with horror as he noticed just how much blood covered him. _No. No! He can't see me like this!_

"Are you bleeding?"

"It's not my blood," Momoshiro finally said. "I'm fine, Ryoma."

"Oh." Ryoma walked away, and didn't see Momoshiro's violet eyes darken. But he only headed for the wash basin and cloth, and brought it back to Momoshiro. He tugged Momoshiro into sitting on the floor, and then he began to wash the dried blood away from Momoshiro's hands. "What did you do to him?"

For a while, Momoshiro found himself unable to speak. He was lost in the all-too-familiar memory of having his skin carefully washed. Ryoma noted the silence, and didn't say anything else. He finished cleaning Momoshiro's hands, then continued up his forearms, where the blood stained past his elbows.

"Is there a first-aid kit here?" He asked, as he wiped the crusted blood off gently.

"Why?"

"You skinned your knuckles, and they might get infected. It's best to prevent that." Ryoma tipped the red-stained water away, and refilled the basin with fresh water from the stream. Then he returned to Momoshiro's side and continued washing the remaining blood off. He tipped out the bloody water a final time, and brought back fresh water for one last rinse. And then he touched a fingertip hesitantly to Momoshiro's scraped knuckles.

"Does it hurt?"

And Momoshiro smiled tenderly down at the tousled mop of dark hair before him. "No," he replied honestly. "Not a bit." Pain didn't exist when Ryoma held his hands so gently.

"Do you have any bandages or antiseptic? It would suck if your hands got infected because of me."

"Don't have one. Don't need it," Momoshiro shrugged casually. He stood up and gazed down at Ryoma. "Ryoma…"

The golden-eyed boy simply inclined his head slightly upwards, to indicate that he'd heard Momoshiro. But he didn't say a word, and Momoshiro sighed. Why couldn't it have happened at a later stage, when he had already bound Ryoma to him? He cursed mentally.

"Now you know what kind of person I am… Are you afraid of me?"

"Of course not!" Came Ryoma's instant reply, accompanied with a sharp glare. But then he looked back down. "Maybe a little," he muttered after a bit of thought.

"You never have to be afraid of me, Ryoma. I promise you that."

Ryoma _did_ eventually look up at him. His large eyes were even wider as he spoke. "Who _are_ you? Who are all of you?" He snorted softly. "At first, I thought you all were just some random bunch of tennis players, then I thought you were a biker gang, and now…I don't know what I think you all are." He glanced at the basin of water.

"So much blood… You really _did_ kill him, didn't you?" He asked quietly.

"I said I would."

"But _did_ you?"

There was silence for a very long, pregnant moment, but Momoshiro eventually sighed. It was best to tell the kid the truth. He ought to at least know what he'd gotten himself into. "Yes, I killed him."

"Oh."

Momoshiro bent down with annoyance. "Is that all you can say? I've just admitted to murder and you react like I've just told you that the Ponta vending machine is empty."

Ryoma turned his eyes on Momoshiro, their champagne depths shimmering with confusion, apprehension, and a bit of uncertainty. "How else would you prefer me to act?" He scowled. "Did you expect me to run out of this room shrieking like some crazed girl!"

Momoshiro chuckled at that mental image of Ryoma in pigtails, hightailing it out of the room as fast as his, or rather, her short feet could manage. "I think Fuji would sooner admit to being a weakling than you shriek." He ruffled Ryoma's already messy hair. "There's something about us that I'm not particularly comfortable with telling you right now. Give me awhile, okay?"

The air was thick with tension. Momoshiro hadn't felt anything like it for a very long time. But then Ryoma gave him a half-smile. "Don't make me wait too long. I might give up and just leave."

"I'll hunt you down," Momoshiro retorted back, a wide grin on his face. He stood up with a bounce. "Come on," he said, holding a hand out to Ryoma. "The others must be wondering if I've eaten you up."

"Don't be ridiculous." But Ryoma took his proffered hand, and Momoshiro tugged him to his feet.

* * *

Kaidoh took one end of the clear plastic sheet and let Inui handle the other end. "What do you want us to do with this?" He asked Fuji, since Tezuka didn't seem to particularly care about matters like this. 

Fuji smiled, his eyes shut in a gentle smile. Kaidoh knew otherwise. And he also knew that if Fuji opened those eyes, he'd see death itself reflected in those fathomless ocean-blue depths. "Bring it out, for the time being."

Kaidoh merely nodded and started for the door.

"Let's follow them out, Tezuka," Fuji murmured, tugging gently on Tezuka's sleeve, smiling innocently. But Tezuka, of all people, could see through the angelic façade, and he raised one brow in query.

"_You're_ the one who enjoys terrorising people, don't drag me into this," he replied in his never-changing solemn voice.

But Fuji, too, knew Tezuka too well for Tezuka's own comfort, and he laughed. "What a lie…" He tugged Tezuka down and brushed his lips over the outer edge of Tezuka's ear. "You enjoy scaring them as much as I do, and you know it." He hopped nimbly out of the armchair, and led Tezuka out of the grisly chamber. "This is so much fun," he sighed with pleasure.

They caught up to Kaidoh and Inui just as the pair entered the main lounge area once more, where the remaining patrons had been gathered. Rather like sheep to the slaughter. There was no sound as Kaidoh and Inui lowered the plastic-wrapped bundle to the polished floor. The blood was visible through the clear plastic, and that was precisely the reason why Fuji had gotten them to use it in the first place. Their task done, they let Fuji address the crowd.

"I'm so disappointed in all of you," he told them, voice still placid, pleasant. "We open our doors to you and this is how you treat a member of our circle." He wagged a finger in chastisement. "I'm afraid I can't let this slide. It was most ill-mannered of Kawaguchi-san to try anything with Ryoma-kun, and of course, we've taken it upon ourselves to teach him a bit of a lesson. I'd let all of you go, but the thing is…you were all going to join in his little party, and I find that totally unacceptable." He shrugged. "And Kawaguchi-san has simply put me in a bad mood."

He smiled at them, his smile bright and cheery, and his smile didn't waver, even as some of them began to edge towards the exit. He simply kept on smiling. And it was only after door after door in the establishment slammed shut and locked itself, and the sound of doors banging and metallic clicking filled the air that his smile took on a more predatory gleam.

"Saa, let the party begin," he murmured.


	4. chapter 4

They walked back towards the main lounge, where Momoshiro was sure they'd e waiting. He'd left immediately after his kill, never having been one to truly enjoy bloodshed. Fuji had assure him that the body would be taken care of. In fact, Fuji had been the one to all but chase him out and back to Ryoma.

He knew Eiji would be worried about Ryoma—that was one reason why he was especially fond of the bouncy redhead. He walked into the chamber, Ryoma in tow, and froze. His eyes grew wide, even as the rest of him stiffened in shock. And then horror. And then he remembered the boy beside him and immediately shielded Ryoma from the view. But the frantic struggles proved that he'd been too late. Ryoma had seen too much.

"Ryoma, stop it!" He tried to crush Ryoma to him, in an attempt to quell his struggles, as well as to just feel the way their bodies fit, for the last time. "Please don't…Ryoma, _stop struggling_!"

Ryoma managed to pull away long enough to deliver a solid punch to Momoshiro's jaw, and reeling from the pure surprise, Momoshiro loosened his grip, giving Ryoma that much needed moment to escape.

"_RYOMA!_"

* * *

Ryoma felt his fist plow into Momoshiro, and for a fraction of a second, he himself was surprised. He'd never hit anyone before. But then his brain kicked into gear and he ran back into the round chamber with all the rooms. He knew it wasn't exactly the smartest place to run into, but if he'd gone the other way, he'd simply have been running straight into a massacre. And, most likely, his own death. 

_You idiot… You've seen _way_ too much already. There's no way they'll let you live anyway. They'll find you, and they'll kill you, just like they were doing with the others in that lounge._

There _had_ to be a place where he could hide, where they wouldn't think of looking for him. Momoshiro's room would be the first place they'd look, since it was a familiar location. The toilet would just be stupid. Ryoma had watched enough horror movies during that period he had lived in America to know that the ones stupid enough to hide in the toilet _always_ got killed first.

But it was only a matter of time… And from what he'd seen, they probably had all the time in the world.

_Kami-sama, I don't want to die!_

Ryoma knew he only had a few more seconds before they came after him. On an impulse, he ran to a random door, yanked it open—surprised that it could even open—and ducked inside, shutting it carefully behind him, before twisting the lock. He sighed with temporary relief. Now all he had to do was find a closet or something to hide in until…well, until he was found.

But when he looked around, he realized that the room was pitch black. He found himself shivering, both from the bone-chilling cold that seemed to permeate his body, and from the sense of terror that the very air seemed to project. He slid his hands along the wall, feeling for a light switch, for something to light up the room, but there was none.

_Damn, I wished I smoked, then I'd have a lighter or some matched with me._

Ryoma continued searching for a switch until he bumped into thing. He touched it. Hard, cold, smooth…metal? They felt like poles, and as he felt his way along the length of it, he decided it was probably something along the lines of a bed. He considered hiding beneath it, but not being able to see what was there…some people threw the _weirdest_ stuff beneath their beds. He was about to walk back to the wall, when he heard a faint chuckle. He froze, like a rabbit before the barrel of a hunter's rifle.

Where was it coming from? It sounded so close.

And then he heard it again.

His head whipped from side to side, trying to determine where that soft, sinister sound was coming from. Then, he realized that he was hearing it in his mind. Terrified, he ran towards where he thought the wall was. But it wasn't there. Instead, he tripped over something hard and slammed into something firm, but by no means hard. There was some give to it and, heaven help him, it felt like a human body.

The dark chuckling in is mind grew louder, and he felt a firm pressure, like his head was caught in a vice that was bearing down, slowly, crushing his head. He never knew the exact moment he passed out.

* * *

Momoshiro glared at them, his face screwed up in rage and sorrow, unconsciously, his nails had lengthened into claws once more, and when he bared his teeth at them, his canines were inch-long weapons. He didn't care that Fuji could shred him into pieces in a millisecond, if he so wished. 

And said person was simply looking back at him, almost disinterestedly, licking up a trail of blood that was winding its way down is index finger.

"We'll find him," Oishi replied, his voice like a calming breeze, the hand he laid on Momoshiro's shoulder firm and comforting, an anchor in a wailing storm. "It'll be okay."

"No, it _won't_!" Momoshiro whipped around to glare at Oishi. "After seeing _this_, he'll never want to have anything to do with any of us!" He sank to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest, all his strength and fury draining out of him with defeat. "I was so close… A few more days, I could have made him mine, and it wouldn't have been so bad if he'd hated me forever after that, but at least I would've been able to bind him to me." He looked up at Oishi, amethyst eyes filmed over with red, the corners of his eyes overflowing with the same crimson tears.

"Let's find him first, and we'll see what can be done from there." Oishi bent down, his heart aching for the younger man. He knew the loneliness that was eating away at Momoshiro. Eiji had saved him from it, and he knew that Ryoma could rescue Momoshiro from that dark pit of despair.

"If he won't have you simply because of _this_, then he isn't who you're searching for, and he's not worth it," Fuji replied, cleaning his hands off on a scrap of someone's cocktail dress. He stood up and glanced down at the corpse at his feet, disdain in his clear, blue eyes. "We'll find him, and we shall see."

The iciness he saw there chilled Momoshiro down to his very _soul_, and he was suddenly very, _very_ afraid for Ryoma.

"Promise you won't hurt him."

Elegant brows winged with surprise. "Even if he hates you? We can't let him go with this much knowledge. There are very few choices available to him now."

Momoshiro stood up, rising to his full height. He was quite a bit taller than Fuji, but he knew that size meant absolutely nothing in their dark world. Nothing at all. Fuji would crush him like an insect if that was what he wanted to do.

"Don't hurt him." He wasn't stupid enough to dare Fuji not to. That would almost guarantee Ryoma's death.

Fuji only shrugged. When Momoshiro glared at him, "We'll see," was all he said, a cold smile twisting his lips.

With a murmured word, he had the others finishing up with their kills, and cleaning up. And when all of them looked marginally more presentable, they left the lounge—now covered in blood and gore, the floor strewn with bodies.

* * *

They knew that there were only so many places for Ryoma to hide. There weren't many doors in that circular chamber, and each of the rooms there had only one doorway. Momoshiro wished that he could just storm into his room and find Ryoma there, but he knew that the boy wasn't stupid enough to hide there. 

"Saa, shall we split up and look for the chibi?"

"No!" Momoshiro glanced around, and then realized that he'd been the one to speak. "I mean, it'll be faster if all of us search one room at a time."

"Ah, but there's always that issue of invasion of privacy, Momo," Fuji replied smoothly. "Relax, I said we'd see whether or not anything has to be done to Ryoma. Until then, I don't have a reason to hurt him, ne? Let's just check our own rooms and see if we find him. We can deal with the other rooms after that."

Momoshiro sighed. It would seem that nothing he said was going to make a difference. At any rate, it seemed that Fuji was out of his dark mood, so maybe it would be a little safer for Ryoma. But he never once forgot that Fuji, even in his best mood, could still kill, although with a cheerful smile plastered on his face.

He entered his own room, knowing Ryoma wouldn't be inside. But he felt his heart ache anyway. He shut his eyes and sniffed the air. The air still retained some of the metallic, coppery scent that went hand in hand with blood. But as he sniffed deeper, there was a lingering hint of sweat, and of something that was uniquely Ryoma. He sighed and sank down onto the futon. Perhaps this was kami-sama's way of telling him that Ryoma wasn't meant to be his.

Momoshiro pressed his face to the pillow and breathed in deeply. It smelled the way it was supposed to be—just him and Ryoma, mingled as one.

_Maybe I _am_ supposed to leave him alone, but I can't. I won't._

He rose to his feet, and after a brief check through his room, exited it, only to find Kaidoh standing in the circular ante-chamber. He scowled.

"Don't you dare say anything."

"Why would I need to say anything to an oaf like you?" Kaidoh snorted back, clearly annoyed that Momoshiro was using him as a verbal punching bag when he'd been nothing but civil earlier. "You screwed up all by yourself."

Momoshiro opened his mouth to retort, but found himself unable to. "Well, that was harsh," he muttered.

"So what are you going to do now?"

Momoshiro shrugged, unsure of his next course of action as well. "There's no escape for him. Like Fuji said, there aren't many options open to him now."

"And you're just going to leave it at that? Have you even considered his age? How much longer he has to live? How little he's already lived? And you'd let Fuji take it away like that?"

Momoshiro said nothing, which was incriminating in itself. And Kaidoh caught that. With a snarl, he fisted a hand in Momoshiro's collar.

"Because you were going to do that yourself anyway, weren't you?" He shoved Momoshiro back, and had he been a lesser man, or just a normal man, he would have fallen in a heap. But Momoshiro was around the same age as Kaidoh, and their body strength was more or less equal. "You disgust me."

And that had fire sparking in Momoshiro's eyes, hot, angry flashes of startling violet. He leapt to his feet and at Kaidoh.

"Well, that's really easy for _you_ to say, isn't it?" Momoshiro gave his long-time rival a violent push, which had Kaidoh stumbling backwards. "_You_ aren't the one who's spent the past few centuries blisteringly lonely." He shoved Kaidoh back another few steps. "_You_ don't have to spend every night in the dark, with no one by your side to wake you up when the nightmares hit. _You_ don't wake up in terror with no one to tell you everything's okay. And _you_ don't have to live each day wondering if you'll ever find your heart back, because it was ripped out of your chest and thrown into an overflowing river!"

He would have flung a punch had someone not grabbed his arm, and when he spun round to then punch whoever it was, he saw Inui staring back at him.

"Why were you about to punch Kaoru, Momoshiro?" His voice was perfectly neutral, like the dispassionate scientist front that he always wore. But Momoshiro knew better. He'd seen Inui on the man's good days, and his bad days, and both were fearsome.

"Because he was being an asshole and because he grabbed me first." Momoshiro wrenched his arm away and stormed back to his own room. It was his only sanctuary, and the only place were no one would bother him unless he gave them permission to. He kicked the basin on the floor, ignoring the loud clatter as it hit a shelf.

He'd screwed things up so royally. Like Fuji had just reminded them all, once an outsider found out about their little secret, they were forced to take certain…measures. The most obvious option was death. Most things, once killed, couldn't reveal secrets. Another was to make whoever it was into a slave, whether mentally or physically—or both, in certain cases—dependent on its master for survival. The last was to make him or her into one of their own kind.

Choosing any of the options would mean taking Ryoma away from all he knew, and taking him away from his loved ones. But then that insidious little voice inside his head whispered back, a sly, teasing murmur.

_But he'll have you, and you love him. He won't be alone, and he'll be protected forever. Who else could give him that, besides you?_

But that would be selfish, Momoshiro knew. And in any case, it would be fair to give Ryoma the choice. It was _his_ life, after all.

_He's in such a state of shock right now. He's not in any position to make any life-altering decisions. He'd say 'no' and what would _that _leave you? An empty existence, waiting for another eternity, waiting for another chance that may or may not come. Seize the opportunity. You know they _all_ would, if they were in your position._

Momoshiro was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, and he had no idea what he'd decide, when the time came for him to choose Ryoma's 'sentence', as it were to be.

There was no letting Ryoma go free. He would have to be under their watch for as long as he lived, to ensure that he didn't tell anyone of their existence. Momoshiro could make the boy his willing slave, he knew. He'd seen others do it before. But there would be no point in having a brainwashed doll cater to his every whim. It wasn't what he wanted.

Ryoma had a vibrancy that was so alive and reminiscent of true life, and a glow about him Momoshiro could only revel in. And just being around the boy, just talking to him, brought him back to an older time when cars weren't even a thought, when animals and the rivers were all the transportation one had and needed. He couldn't take that away from Ryoma, no matter how badly he wanted him.

Death, in fact, was more preferable to the option of living slavery.

But it was that last option that was most tempting. To be able to have Ryoma beside him forever, to take back what had been cruelly ripped from him so long ago…to be able to continue from what was now a distant, if fond, memory. It was a icy, succulent fruit, dangling before a parched, desert survivor. And Momoshiro found himself lingering upon thoughts of what could be, more often than he wanted to think about.

A knock on his door stole him away from his wildly-running thoughts, for which he was actually rather grateful. He needed a reprieve from himself.

"Come out, Momo, I've found something that I think, belongs to you."

Momoshiro had the door opened even before he could fully comprehend what Fuji had said. All he'd needed to hear was that slick, smooth tone.

"Where is he?"

"Now, now, is that any way to speak to me? I'd been expecting a word of thanks, or some other expression of gratitude."

Momoshiro, too anxious about Ryoma's wellbeing to care about niceties, ignored Fuji. "Where did you find him? Is he okay? Where is he?"

Fuji must have decided to let it slide, since Momoshiro didn't find himself suddenly disemboweled. Instead, he smile that seemingly innocent smile of his and pointed to one partially-open door. "That's where I found him." But when Momoshiro started for that door, Fuji held up a hand to stop him. "But we moved him to Eiji's room, since I doubt he'd be comfortable in mine."

That was Fuji's subtle way of saying that he didn't want anybody in his room. Except maybe Tezuka. But Tezuka was always an exception, when it came to Fuji.

"I think you should go in alone, Momo."

He was too frantic to properly examine the silky tone of voice the Fuji had used, barging into Eiji's room immediately. He shut the door behind him with a soft 'click' as he engaged the locks. There was no way he was going to let Ryoma escape again without an explanation.

He made sure all the locks were working, and then turned to face Ryoma. The boy's back was to him, and he sighed.

"Ryoma, look at me, please?" He got no reply whatsoever. "Okay then, at least, just listen to me first. There were things you need to know. And I need you to know that I would have told them to you eventually, but it was just too soon." He sighed again, looking away. "But then you saw everything. I'm very sorry, Ryoma, but now that you know all this, we can't let you go just like that."

He took a step closer to Ryoma, purposely making some noise so that he wouldn't suddenly spook him. But Ryoma didn't flinch, didn't so much as twitch. He suddenly got a bad feeling in his gut.

"Ryoma, say something."

He laid a hand on Ryoma's shoulder, turned Ryoma to face him. He knew something wasn't quite right when Ryoma didn't even scowl at him. And then he removed the white cap that perched jauntily on his dark hair.

Blank golden eyes stared back at him.

"Hey, Ryoma?" Momoshiro shook him gently. "Ryoma, you're scaring me."

Ryoma stirred, but his champagne-gold eyes remained dull. "I'm okay," Ryoma said in a flat voice. "I'm okay, Takeshi, really."

"No… No!" Momoshiro began to panic. "What did he do to you? Tell me! What did he do?"

"Who?" Ryoma slipped out of Momoshiro's grasp, looking at nothing in particular. He undid the top button of his shirt disinterestedly, and then the next, and would have kept on going if Momoshiro didn't still his hands.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't it what you want? You always said before, how much you loved me, and even while I drowned, I heard you tell me that. Isn't this what you want, Takeshi?" Ryoma looked genuinely puzzled, even if his eyes were still that dull, dead, golden shade.

_He _didn't_… Surely he wouldn't!_

"Ryo-"

"Why do you keep calling me Ryoma? Who is that?" Ryoma looked up at him, a faint scowl on his face. "Is that someone else you met while I was gone?"

"Tell me your name," Momoshiro said hoarsely.

"My name? You've always known it, Takeshi. It's me, Yukio. You used to call me Yu-kun, remember? Who is Ryoma? What is he to you?"

Momoshiro paled at the mention of that one name, and then he released Ryoma with shaking hands. He walked back to the door on legs that felt more like jelly, and unlocked the door.

"Saa, Momo, how did it go?"

Eyes full of anguish, he launched himself at Fuji, not caring that he'd probably be dead in half a second. Fortunately for him, Fuji had already anticipated a similar reaction from him, and with an absent wave of his hand, sent Momoshiro crashing back into a wall.

"Try to remember that I _could_ just kill you with a mere thought, Momoshiro. It's not like I want you dead so badly, you know."

"_WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!_"

Fuji shrugged nonchalantly. "I simply sought to make your life a bit easier."

"Easier? How, in kami-sama's name, does it make my life easier!"

"Yukio has no more family left with which to burden him. Ryoma does. So simple. You don't have to kill him, you don't have to enslave him, and you have no guilt issues to work through to bring him over. See? So much less trouble."

"As long as he has Ryoma's body, I won't take Ryoma away from his life here."

"So you would rather I kill the boy and find Yukio's soul another shell?"

"Of course not!"

Fuji rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Then what _do_ you want?"

Momoshiro couldn't believe their great leader was so incredibly dense. Or perhaps that was why it was usually Tezuka who gave the orders. Or was Tezuka actually their leader and Fuji just playing at it? Momoshiro had no idea.

"I want you to return Ryoma back to normal!"

"But isn't who you're after already in there? Your sweet Yu-kun, sitting in that delectable little body, just waiting for you." When Momoshiro would have leapt at him again, Fuji held out a hand to temporarily freeze him in place. "Stop and think about what you intend to do before you actually get yourself killed, you idiot."

"I intend to rip your guts out and feed them to the vultures," he snarled.

"You see, isn't it better that you voiced it out first, before actually attempting, and then getting yourself slaughtered over something so silly?" Fuji smiled. "The thing, Momoshiro, is that you'd die before you even came close enough to touch me, and that would leave your little darling without any protection at all. After all, _you're_ the only reason why we don't touch him, right? And if you're gone, there's nothing to prevent us from having him join you in that eternal darkness."

And for one of the very few times in his extremely long life-span, Fuji found himself completely surprised. Momoshiro shrugged and held out his wrists.

"Well, you know many ways to take life, but try to kill us nicely, okay? It makes burial easier if we look like we died from natural causes."

Fuji frowned. "What are you trying to do?"

"Making sure that Ryoma doesn't die a messy death once I'm gone."

"And you _want_ him to die?" Fuji was almost appalled.

"Well, I don't want a brainless slave, and that's more or less what's inside that room now." Momoshiro shrugged with a sad smile. "Something like that is easy to find, easy to make, but you only get a guy like Ryoma once every few centuries. Maybe if we die together, we'll get reborn around the same time, ne?"

Fuji slapped his hand to his forehead in complete exasperation. "Remind me again, who was the idiot who gave you your immortality?" He glared at Eiji. "Because I seriously feel like killing him right now."

"Fuji, you've had your fun," the normally hyper redhead said, with a slight frown. "Make Ochibi normal again."

"And what makes you think it's not just the shock that woke Yukio up?"

Eiji glanced at Momoshiro for a reply, having said all that he'd wanted to.

"Because that spark is gone. He looks right through me, like I'm not there. His eyes are blank, that sparkle of life is gone." He scowled at Fuji. "You took it away. I want you to put it back, or kill us both."

"Okay. You can follow me in then." He glanced at the others around him. "Alone," he added.

Momoshiro gulped, but nodded. He wondered how he'd spend his afterlife while waiting for a chance at reincarnation. He hoped it would be somewhere close to Ryoma. He wondered if Fuji would let him hold Ryoma a last time, if maybe he could kill them together.

_Maybe then we'd get a better chance at a future, next time around.

* * *

_

They entered Eiji's room, and Fuji locked the door behind him, and not too pleased look on his face. Ryoma was exactly where Momoshiro had left him, and once more, he was still and silent, simply seated upon Eiji's weird bed.

"Ryoma…" Momoshiro could help the soft whisper from escaping. He tousled Ryoma's dark hair, simply enjoying the feel of those silken strands against his skin. He sat down beside the boy, then touched a gentle kiss to Ryoma's temple. "I'm really sorry that this had to happen to you. You had so much longer to live, but then _I_ came along and messed that up. I promise you can kill me if you want the next time we meet."

"Are you quite done yet, Momoshiro?" Fuji growled. "I had better things to do with my night, instead of baby-sit you and the boy."

"Fine, get on with it," Momoshiro replied with a snort. "Then you can get back to screwing Tezuka, or whatever it is that you were going to do."

Fuji laughed, and unlike many of them, it didn't sound forced, or fake, or menacing. In fact, he looked very much amused. "For someone who kept trying to get himself killed throughout the night, you're not too dumb."

"Just _do_ it," Momoshiro replied through gritted teeth.

"Sure you don't want to give your Yukio a kiss goodbye?"

"He is _not_ Yukio." Momoshiro looked down at the ground. "Yukio died a long time ago, Fuji. We both know that."

Fuji gave him a 'you-said-it-not-me' kind of look, and then tapped the crown of Ryoma's head a few times, and whispered into his ear, while Momoshiro watched in fascination. He'd certainly never seen Fuji kill anyone like this before. But then Ryoma went utterly limp, and slumped against Momoshiro. Wide-eyed, Momoshiro caught him in his arms.

Ryoma looked peaceful, like he'd simply fallen asleep. Momoshiro had a fleeting thought on what it would be like to wake up to that face on every rising, before he realized that Ryoma was still breathing.

_Wait a minute-_

And then Ryoma blinked, he rubbed his eyes, as if emerging from a deep sleep, then glanced up at Momoshiro, bewildered.

"Momoshiro? What happened? I tripped and fell into…" And then his eyes widened. "Just now-"

Momoshiro saw those eyes glinting gold, like they were meant to, dazzling like the sun itself. Then Ryoma froze, halting in mid-speech. And then a thin trail of blood trickled down his jaw, from the corner of his mouth. His burnished-gold eyes were wide in surprise and horror.

"You're killing him!"

Fuji looked down at his talon-like nails, studying them casually. "Isn't that what you asked me to do?"

"I asked you to either return him to normal _or_ kill us! Not _both_!"

Piercing azure eyes sharpened, and one hazel-brown brow rose sardonically. "You knew that there were only three ways to end this. So you can decide now, Momoshiro. You can leave him be and let him die—I promise you that he's not feeling any pain now, in fact, he's quite numb—or you can keep him alive as your pet. Or you could make him one of us and save us all the melodrama that the previous two options would no doubt cause."

"You planned this," Momoshiro hissed.

"Of course. I don't do things for no reason. Remember that." Fuji pointed to Ryoma. "You'd better hurry and decide or option one will become the default option."

"Damn you, Fuji," Momoshiro snarled.

Fuji's reply was a small, resigned smile. "I already am."

* * *

A/N:

well, isn't this amazing. i typed this entire chapter up all in one night. of course, i have an exam in a few hours and am extremely, and totally screwed, but hey, i got a new chapter up. cool. > i am SO gonna die. anyway, here's a new chapter, i'm going to start on chapter 5 now, and then stay up the rest of the night studying. i'll probably be half asleep during tomorrows exam, which HAS to be a morning paper, but then i'll just come home and fall asleep. all will be balanced in the end.

good luck to me, and here's to hoping i don't fail. cheers. -.-()()()()


	5. chapter 5

Momoshiro laid Ryoma down on the divan-bed, resting the boy's head on a fluffy pillow. He bent down and kissed Ryoma tenderly, licking away the blood. Fuji watched was he lapped up every last drop of blood, and knew which path Momoshiro had chosen. And he was glad.

"Momoshiro?" Ryoma's voice was weak, tired, he also sounded very confused. "I feel so tired…and cold… What happened? Are you killing me because of what I saw?"

"No." Momoshiro's smile was tremulous. "No, I could never kill you. But you _are_ dying, Ryoma, and I have to save you. You might want to throttle me for it later, but you haven't a choice now, do you understand?" He ruffled Ryoma's hair, absently marvelling at how soft it was.

"Why would I want to strangle you? I'm in mortal peril and you're saving me." He pressed into Momoshiro's hand with a tiny smile. "That feels nice… Normally, I don't like people to touch my hair, but with you…it's different."

"I'll remember that. And remember what you said when you feel like killing me later." And then Momoshiro bent down and stole another kiss. Then he brushed his lips down Ryoma's jaw and along his jaw line, trailing dry kisses down his neck, until he found the weakly throbbing pulse. "I love you, Ryoma."

And then he sank his elongated canines into soft, delicate skin.

He heard a faint cry of pain, but knew that the sensation was fleeting, replaced by something far more pleasant. And true to prior experiences, Ryoma relaxed once more, making a sound that seemed rather similar to a purr. Momoshiro felt arousal add on to the heady rush that the gush of fresh blood gave him. Ryoma was sweet, an intoxicating brew of innocence and fiery passion. When the flow of blood began to slow down to a sluggish seeping of blood, rather than a gushing flood, Momoshiro ran his tongue over the twin punctures, closing them in an instant. He lapped up the last of the blood staining Ryoma's skin, and then left a small wine-coloured bruise there.

Ryoma was dead weight in his arms, as he nestled the boy in his arms, cheek pressing against Momoshiro's chest. With one hand, Momoshiro ripped his shirt open, and then raked one single claw over his heart. Blood began to bead in a crimson line, and then a slow, but steady, flow of blood trickled down towards Ryoma's pale lips.

"Come on, drink up," Momoshiro whispered. "It's good for you." He dabbed a fingertip in the bright red liquid and touched it to Ryoma's tongue. Ryoma sleepily licked his finger clean, and then lapped lazily at the dripping blood. He latched onto the bleeding wound like an infant would its mother's breast, and suckled.

Momoshiro pressed Ryoma's head gently, urging him on silently. His fell back when Ryoma's hair brushed against his nipple. After a few more moments, he felt the lethargy coming over him, and he gently nudged Ryoma away. "Feeding time's over, koi. Too much will make your stomach hurt." He licked his thumb and wiped at the wound. It closed and Ryoma, defiant of orders as he normally was, bent forward to lick away the lingering vestiges of blood.

"You're never going to listen to me, are you?" Momoshiro kissed the top of Ryoma's head. "Sleep now and rest. I'll wake you up later, okay?"

"Mm, oyasumi…"

"Yeah, oyasumi to you too." Momoshiro felt Ryoma take his last breath, and then that slender body was completely still. He glanced at Fuji, fighting back the fist burst of panic. "Is it supposed to be like this? He'll be okay, won't he?"

Fuji heard the faint tremor in Momoshiro's voice, felt the waves of fear emanating from the younger man and sighed. "He'll be perfectly fine, Momo. Maybe a bit hungry when he wakes up later, but fine, nonetheless." He strode forwards to unlock the door. "Go on, bring him to your room. Rest with him. The two of you have had a very emotional night." He opened the door and gave Momoshiro a gentle shove out.

They all watched Momoshiro cradle Ryoma in his arms, and disappear into the privacy of his chamber. And then all eyes were on Fuji. Their fawn-haired leader simply smiled. "Don't worry, Eiji. Not a single drop of blood on your sheets. He did everything perfectly, for a virgin sire. It would seem that we now have a new one to care for."

* * *

There wasn't any pain. That was what struck Ryoma as odd, as he lay dying. He'd always thought that dying would hurt. A lot. But it didn't, in fact, he felt curiously…numb. But then Momoshiro promised to save him, and then he kissed him, on the lips, and then at his neck. And then it hurt. But only for a second, and then the pleasure…it was indescribable.

It had felt like Momoshiro was draining him, drinking him dry, but it had felt too good for Ryoma to consider stopping him. But then Momoshiro had stopped, and made him drink something…it tasted sweet, yet spicy, with a coppery after-taste. And for some reason, Ryoma had felt thirstier than he'd ever been in his whole life—even after a long tournament match.

Momoshiro had stopped him halfway, but he managed to sneak in a bit more, before fatigue crept over him. He distantly recalled Momoshiro telling him to sleep, to rest.

_He'll wake me up later… He'll wake me…

* * *

_

Ryoma woke up, jerking to full alertness, instead of drifting slowly to consciousness like he usually did. He wondered why.

"Ryoma?"

Momoshiro? He smiled. So Momoshiro was the one responsible for him waking. He stretched, sighing at the comfort the actions brought. There was a faint twinge in his neck, and he touched the aching spot tenderly. When the ache didn't intensify nor go away when he rubbed it, he decided to leave it alone.

"Awake yet, sleeping beauty?"

"Sort of, and watch who you call sleeping beauty." He sat up and blinked. "Momoshiro, I can see."

"It's not like you're blind."

Ryoma looked at him. "But it's dark. There's hardly any light at all, but I can still see you." He reached out to touch Momoshiro's forehead. "You look so worried, there's even a crease right here."

"I didn't know if you'd be okay," Momoshiro admitted.

"Oh, right." Ryoma blushed. "You saved me. Again." He managed an embarrassed scowl. "This is becoming a damn habit." He snorted at Momoshiro. "Don't get used to it. I'm probably having a _really_ unlucky day."

Momoshiro grinned. "Well, this is the luckiest day of my entire life, so I'm sorry, but I can't feel the same way you do."

"Oh, shut up…"

Then Momoshiro saw the expression on Ryoma's face change from embarrassed, to confused. He saw Ryoma's brilliant gold eyes light up with hunger and bloodlust. Ryoma shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. Momoshiro knew all too well what he was feeling.

"It's not going to go away, Ryoma."

"I feel weird."

"I know." Momoshiro moved to sit beside him. "I know, Ryoma. You're just hungry, don't worry."

"I know what hunger is, and this isn't it." He frowned. "I feel so thirsty, but you already made me drink something just now, so that can't be it-"

"It's been a few days already, Ryoma."

"Huh?"

Momoshiro caressed his lip with a thumb. "It's been almost four days since that night. But like I said, don't worry, it's perfectly natural for you to feel like this. I know what you need." He nuzzled Ryoma's hair, murmured into his ear. "Do you trust me?" He asked.

"With my life."

Momoshiro smiled. "That's good to hear." He ran his fingers through Ryoma's hair. "I remember you said you liked me to touch your hair."

He heard a kittenish sigh. "It feels nice…"

"Will you kiss me, Ryoma?"

Ryoma found himself agreeing, and even as he wound himself up to refuse, he was already brushing his lips against Momoshiro's. He darted his tongue out for a brief taste, and found himself in Momoshiro's mouth. And he lost himself in that hot, moist heat.

"You taste so nice…" He murmured, pausing.

"I know something that will taste better." Momoshiro gently guided his new lover down his face, to his neck, mirroring where he had marked Ryoma. He rubbed his thumb against one of Ryoma's canines, bringing it to its full length for the first time. "Does it hurt?"

"No, but it feels odd…maybe a bit itchy."

"It will, the first few times, but after that, you won't feel a thing." He tilted Ryoma's head up to meet his eyes. He saw the glistening fangs, pale in the darkness of his room. "Such pretty teeth you have, Ryoma." He pricked his thumb on one needle-sharp point, smeared the blood across Ryoma's lower lip. He almost moaned with need when he saw that lush, pink tongue flick out to lick at the reddish smears.

"Want more, koi? Then use those pretty little weapons of yours." He touched the spot over his pulse. "You know how."

Ryoma glanced up at him, golden eyes large. And then he pressed a tender kiss to the throbbing beat, and then sank his fangs deep into Momoshiro's neck. Blood rushed into his mouth instantly, and he gorged himself on it, starving. He remembered the taste the hazy, intoxicating sweetness, and that unique spice that he somehow knew, belonged only to Momoshiro. He drank until a gentle tug on his hair roused him from his dazed feeding.

"That's enough for now, Ryoma."

Ryoma felt the hunger dissipate, and sealed the pin-pricks with a languorous sweep of his tongue. He rested his head in the crook of Momoshiro's neck, sated. "Now it all makes sense," he muttered.

"What makes sense?"

Ryoma sighed. "I really did it this time, didn't I? I went and got myself kidnapped and killed by a bunch of tennis-playing, vampire bikers."

"You're not really dead."

"Aren't I? You drank my blood, I drank yours, I died, woke up and had my first proper meal." Ryoma gazed into the dark room. "That's why you said I'd feel like killing you when I woke up, right?"

"Your memory is working pretty well."

"Well, I've had my breakfast," Ryoma snorted dryly.

Momoshiro laughed. "More like lunch. It's the middle of the night."

"So? That means I'm dead, right?" He thought for a moment. "Or is that _un_dead?"

Momoshiro reached down for his hand and brought it to his heart. "My heart beats, and it wouldn't if I was dead, would it?" And then he touched it to Ryoma's chest. "Feel your heart beating?"

"But I felt it. I felt myself die." Ryoma looked up. "I felt myself slip away, and it was all dark until you woke me up."

"I guess it's kind of like when your heart stops beating and the emergency medical staff shock you back to life…just a more extended version. Your heart _did_ stop beating, and let me tell you that it was the most horrifying few hours of my life. But once you body finishes converting into one of our kind, something stimulates your heart to work again. And you rest until you're ready to wake up."

"I'm not going to think about that. Something tells me I'd give myself a headache."

"Smart boy." He continued holding Ryoma's hand. "You're taking this very, _very_ well. Most people would be screaming in horror. I mean, this _is_ like something out of a horror movie."

"I knew. I saw the others in the lounge, remember?" He burrowed closer to Momoshiro. "And I think I already sort of knew when that idiot went and molested me before that. He went straight for my neck too, actually."

"And what a pretty neck that is." Momoshiro stroked the skin there with a brief chuckle. "But I still say you're taking this really well. It feels like everything happened only a little while ago for you."

Ryoma didn't reply. For a long while he simply sat there, nestled next to Momoshiro.

"What would be the point? It's already done. There's no reversing this, right? I could scream and shout and kick up a fuss, but it wouldn't make a difference. I might as well get used to it." He replied with a defeated sigh. He tried to smile. "Besides, you promised me you'd take care of me. You promised to save me. You kept your promise, and that's what counts." A vague memory flash through his mind. "You said you loved me. I heard you."

"I didn't mean for you to hear me," Momoshiro muttered, quickly averting his face to hide the beginnings of a blush.

Ryoma decided to leave that for another time. "So what's it like, being a vampire and all."

Momoshiro cringed slightly. "We're not really 'vampires'. At least, not the kind that you see on TV, or read about in books."

"I just sucked your blood. If _that's_ not vampirism, I don't know what is."

"Look, there's this…_thing_ in our blood, and depending on the quantity, it can either alter or entirely rewrite the genetic code of whatever body cells it comes into contact with. That's what Inui told me. He told me more, but after a certain point, I stopped understanding what he was saying." He paused, trying think of a way to phrase what was in his mind. "We're like an entirely different race. We look like humans, and in a way, _are_, but with a few differences.

"Like surviving on blood?"

Momoshiro rolled his eyes. "Why are you so hung up on the blood bit? No, we can't just survive on blood. We eat normal food like any normal person, just not as much, and we need supplement our diets with blood. It's kind of like vitamin C to us."

"So I won't die if I don't drink any?"

"It's never been seen before. We all drink blood. I doubt anyone's tried that and succeeded, for long."

"Why?"

"Remember how thirsty you felt when you woke up?" Momoshiro shrugged casually. "After awhile, the bloodlust grows into something you just can't control, at which point you'd probably go into a killing frenzy, instead of a controlled feeding."

Ryoma blinked. Okay, so maybe that would be a bad idea. He'd rather make someone temporarily anaemic than actually _kill_ that person. "Then what about special powers? Can I fly? Or turn into animals?"

"Why the heck would you want to turn into an animal!" Momoshiro looked genuinely appalled. "I don't think so. I haven't seen any of us do that before, or fly—so don't try!"

"I'm not suicidal." He sighed. "So I can't fly, I can't turn into cool things…what _can_ I do?"

"Some of us seem to have more…interesting abilities. But the rest of us don't." He shrugged. "I don't think I have any."

"Fuji does, doesn't he?" Ryoma asked, his voice flat.

"Yes. I think it has something to do with age. He, Tezuka, and Inui are the oldest of us. I don't even know _how_ old they are."

Ryoma snorted. "Now I _really_ feel like a kid, damn it." Then he stilled. "How old are you?"

Momoshiro counted, pausing for a moment while he sorted through his memories. "Around two hundred and fifty-two years old, if I remember correctly."

"What! Go away, you're way too old for me." He muttered half-heartedly. "And I thought _oyaji_ was old…"

"Hey, I'm not old! Kaidoh and I are the youngest, after you, of course."

Ryoma shrugged, and stood up, stretching. "Doesn't mean you _aren't_ still old." And then he remembered a very important question. "Sunlight. Will it kill me?"

"Direct sunlight can burn us. I suppose if one of us was actually masochistic enough to stand outside long enough on a sunny afternoon…but as it is, only direct sunlight will actually hurt. The older you become, the more you're used to it, and the less uncomfortable it is."

"So I can still go out and play tennis?"

"Try to stick to evenings. You'll be quite sensitive to light for awhile."

"That…doesn't sound so bad," he admitted, the corners of his lips quirking into a faint grin. "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't play tennis…"

"I'm sorry…" Momoshiro murmured contritely. "I… You were dying and I wanted to save you and this was the only way I could. I didn't really think about what I'd be doing to you…"

"I've already said that what's done is done. You saved my life, and I'm grateful for it. Let's leave it at that, okay?" And then he smiled and held out his hand. "Why don't you show me the wonders of the night instead, Momoshiro. Teach me to love what I've become."

Momoshiro took his hand and led him to the door.

* * *

Momoshiro brought Ryoma on a tour of quieter, more suburban areas nearby, and while Ryoma initially scoffed at the idea, he quickly became fascinated by the way everything seemed so new. He attributed it to his keener senses, his heightened vision. He saw things he'd never noticed before, heard the subtle song of the deep night, and felt the barest brush of the midnight breeze. It was like being born into a brand new world.

Momoshiro stopped the motorcycle by the side of the road and they walked off the asphalt onto grass. Ryoma recognized the place. They were on the grassy slopes flanking a large canal. During the typhoon season, it was often flooded, but now, the water level was low.

They settled on the grass, staring up at the vast blanket of stars overhead, at the inky dark that held more secrets than could be discovered in a single lifetime.

"This is amazing…" Ryoma whispered, eyes wide, smiling without even knowing it. "Who needs a telescope? I can see _galaxies_, Momoshiro!"

"Yeah?" Momoshiro felt a warm, foreign sensation settle over him, calming, soothing. For the first time ever since he'd entered this life of immortality, he felt…at peace. "See that faint pinkish smudge?"

Ryoma screwed up his eyes a bit. Much as his eyesight had improved tremendously, there was still a limit as to the brilliance of his vision. "The one that looks like a donut?"

"Yeah. When Inui first brought me out to look at stars, it was before the concept of light-years came about, but a bit more recently I found out that that galaxy's a good million light-years away or something. Awesome, isn't it? And if you stay out here long enough, you'll see more. When I first went star gazing, it took Kawamura _and_ the threat of sunlight to drag me away. That feeling of getting lost in the stars…it's something that very few people can experience. Especially on a scale like this." He grinned at Ryoma, who was entranced by the glittering marvels of space. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Ryoma muttered the affirmative, his voice a dreamy murmur. His features, normally layered with a trace of adolescent arrogance and lukewarm detachment, were laid wide open, innocent and carefree. A dazed, enthralled smile curved his lips, erasing the smirk that was usually in place.

"Not a cloud in the sky… It's on nights like this that I feel like I can see to the ends of the universe."

"Mm hm…" Ryoma's fingers found a stalk of wild grass and began absently playing with the thin stem.

Momoshiro chuckled, recognizing the look on Ryoma's face. He'd had the same look two and a half centuries ago. He stroked Ryoma's hair gently. "It's never the same. Each time you look, something seems to have changed.

Ryoma barely heard Momoshiro. Too lost, he was, in the endless field of sparkling stars and smoky, wispy galaxies. There was too much for him to take in all in one night. Indeed, he could stare into the night sky every night for as long as he lived, and still not be able to scan every inch of the twinkling canopy—not that _that_ was going to stop him. Lost in the pinpricks of brilliance against the inky black, he never even noticed when he fell asleep.

Long before the harsh rays of the morning sun could kiss them, Momoshiro brought his young love back and tucked themselves beneath a soft blanket. Arms loosely wrapped around Ryoma, one long leg casually draped over a pair of shorter, more slender ones, Momoshiro drifted off into a light sleep. Gone were his days of deep slumber, for he now had something dear to watch over.


	6. chapter 6

Half a week after his conversion to one of the—and he snickered a bit—'creatures of the night', Ryoma decided to drop by his house for a few items. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to his parents, his cousin.

And he really, _really_, missed his cat.

The house was dark, since it was almost midnight, and his parents usually slept reasonably early. He crept past their room to get to his, but a loose floorboard just _had_ to choose that very inopportune time to make itself be known. A loud squeak resounded through the still house.

Ryoma swore under his breath. And waited. He wasn't disappointed.

"Who is that?" Came a sleepy male voice. "Ryoma?"

_Shitshitshitshit!_ He dashed to his room, but didn't make it in time. One large hand hauled him back by his collar, and he found himself face-to-face with an extremely incensed and rather groggy Echizen Nanjiroh.

"You disappear for a whole week without any notice, you don't turn up at school, and now you sneak back in here like some thief! Your mother and I did _not_ bring you up just so that you can become a delinquent like this!"

Ryoma sighed. He should have expected something like this to happen. "Geez, give me a break, oyaji," he muttered. "I fell sick after practice and someone took care of me until now. I was completely dead to the world for the first four days." He managed to say the last bit without laughter, and was relieved.

"Sick?" Nanjiroh's brow wrinkled. He released his errant son and ran his hands over Ryoma, as if to check that he was still in one piece. "Are you okay? What happened? And why the heck didn't you call once you were better, idiot!"

Glad that his son was, indeed, whole, Nanjiroh swatted Ryoma's head and glared at him. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? We called the neighbours, your friends, the school… I wanted to make a police report, but your mother…" He sighed and scratched the back of his head. "She felt that making a report would make it seem final—that you really _had_ just disappeared. If you hadn't shown up now…well, I was going to call them tomorrow morning anyway."

Ryoma swallowed the guilty lump in his throat. "Is she okay?"

"She's been too worried to sleep the past week, so she's been taking something to help her sleep."

Ryoma scowled. "Stop trying to make me feel even worse. I told you I was sick and that's why I couldn't call! Look, I'll stay until she wakes up, but I have an appointment at ten for a checkup. The guy who was taking care of me knows a doctor. He'll pick me up tomorrow."

"I want you back for lunch."

"I think the examination's going to take up most of the day." But then Ryoma sighed and he tried to smile. "But I'll try to be back for dinner, okay?"

Nanjiroh punched him lightly. "You had better. Knowing your mother, she'll spend the afternoon cooking up a feast. You eat everything she puts on your plate, and then some more. Got it?"

"Ha-i… Can I go and sleep now?"

"Whatever," Nanjiroh muttered gruffly. "The cat's on your bed, in case you were going to ask. He's been pining for you the whole week."

Ryoma managed a small smile. "I missed him too. Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight." He waited until the door was almost shut, then muttered, "Okaeri, Ryoma." Nanjiroh heard the whispered "tadaima", and then returned to bed, his heart far lighter.

* * *

The following morning, he was jolted awake by his mother's overjoyed cry and a tight hug.

"If you _ever_ do this to me again, I'll find you and cook you, you horrid little boy!"

"Kaa-san…" he gasped. "I can't…breathe!"

She loosened her grip slightly, but not enough for him to squirm out. And then she began crying. "I thought you had been kidnapped, or killed, or knocked down by a hit-and-run driver, or fell into something deep and couldn't get out, or injured, or-"

"I'm fine. I'm fine!" He shook his mother slightly, and then enveloped her in a gentle hug. "See? I'm okay. I'm here, and I'm okay."

"You didn't call me!" She sniffled. "You're my only son, Ryoma. My only child. What would I do if something ever happened to you?"

"Well, I think oyaji would be quite happy to make you a new kid. Or try."

"You're just as perverted as your father," she sniffled, smiling slightly. "What would you like for breakfast? I'll make you anything you want, how's that?"

"Anything will do. I'm going to see the doctor at ten, but I'll be back for dinner, okay?"

"Okay," she replied with a teary smile. "I'll make all your favourites for dinner, okay?"

"Okay. Let me know if you need me to help you get anything from the grocery store on the way home."

His mother pressed her cheek to the top of his head. "You've been such a sweet boy, Ryoma… I love you so much. You must take care of yourself, okay? Don't make me worry so much…" She laughed. "What am I saying? I'll always worry… That's the curse of being a mother, Ryoma." She hugged him again. "Be careful, okay? You're my darling son…"

"I'll be careful, kaa-san. Really I will." _And I've got friends who'll care for me and protect me for the rest of my life…and theirs._ "I'll be okay." He gave her a last squeeze, then let go. "Shouldn't you be making breakfast now? Or I'll be late for my appointment."

She wiped the tears from her face. "Yes, I should." She smiled, her smile bright and happy. "I love you, dear. I'm so glad you're safe." And then she left to prepare a breakfast fit for her little prince.

* * *

Ryoma exited his house and tugged the brim of his cap lower over his eyes. The light was glaring. It was still reasonably early, and the sky was covered with grey clouds that promised heavy showers later, but the gentle light was bright enough to make him start tearing. A muted honk had him looking up at the road, where a sleek little sports car waited for him.

He opened the passenger door and slid in. "Thanks for picking me up…"

"You should have waited inside. You won't be used to the sensitivity of your eyes for another few more months. Some things take time. You have to be more careful."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. So are we really going to see a doctor?"

"Of course."

Ryoma snorted in derision. "Who? We're not exactly _normal_, you know."

"Oishi's descendants have always been doctors and specialists in the medical field. His legend is passed down from one generation to the next, and it is their duty to care for him and those he cares for."

"Oh."

And that was all either said until they reached the hospital, since neither of them was any good as a conversationalist. Tezuka parked the car in the basement parking lot and led Ryoma into a small building, separate from the main hospital. They took the discreet elevator up to the ground floor, where the receptionist was.

"We have an appointment. He's expecting us."

The receptionist smiled and gestured to a corridor of doors. "Yes, he's waiting for you in that last room, at the end of the corridor."

"Thank you." Tezuka led Ryoma down towards the room, and although it was brightly lit, Ryoma had the sensation of walking through a dark, dank dungeon.

* * *

Nanjiroh looked at the report Tezuka had given him. "So my son is now allergic to sunlight, and will have an adverse reaction when exposed to copious quantities of it?" His tone was disbelieving.

"In short, yes. That was apparently why he was sick at school. The doctor said that as long as he obeys the orders listed here, we will be fine."

Nanjiroh raised an eyebrow in question. "Then how is he supposed to go to school?"

"I'm afraid you will have to withdraw him from school and enroll him in a school where they have different school hours. Or engage a home tutor."

He sighed and shook his head. "I have some money stored away from when I was a professional tennis player, but that's meant for his university education. Private schools and private tutors are just too much." He scowled. "What kind of doctor did you bring him to, anyway?"

Tezuka's expression never changed. "My family doctor. If you don't mind me suggesting, I may be able to secure him a private tutor for a substantially lower fee than you may be able to."

"Yes? And pray tell, who will you go about accomplishing that?"

"My family and relatives also suffer from this condition. In our case, it is genetic." He pushed up his glasses. "We have a tutor who comes to teach the affected children in the evenings. It would be of little trouble for Ryoma to be included in the classes."

Nanjiroh's eyes were wide. "Really? Ryoma would be able to learn enough to pass university entrance exams?"

"If he is appropriately diligent."

Those amazed eyes narrowed once more. "How much?"

Tezuka named a sum that was even a little bit less than what Ryoma's currently education was costing his parents. "Ryoma would also be able to continue his tennis practice, as there are many in my family who play the sport at a reasonably high level."

A relieved smile broke over Nanjiroh's face. "Tennis means a lot to my son…to me too. He has the potential to compete in national tournaments, and then international ones, if he keeps up his practices. If your family would be able to provide him with education both in the court and out, I would be very grateful."

"It's of no trouble. I will let my family know, and monthly statements on Ryoma's progress will be sent to you, as well, as a bill. He will be given sufficient homework. You may check, if you wish. Classes will start with effect of Monday."

"Then that's done with-"

"Not quite. It would be best for Ryoma to live with the others who suffer the same condition as him. It would help prevent him from feeling depressed, as well as have companionship. Also, it would make traveling easier, as he will not have to worry about being exposed to the sun unnecessarily. You and your wife are welcome to visit him, of course, and he can go home on weekends if he has completed his homework. It's quite like a dorm."

"What?" Nanjiroh stiffened. "I've just gotten my son back, and now you're telling me that I'm going to lose him again!"

"You will not me losing him. It is just like attending a school where he will be required to stay in a dormitory." Tezuka shrugged. "Like I said, you are welcome to visit, although a call would be wise. Due to the rather nocturnal nature of their studies, the students tend to sleep in the day, rather than at night. Ryoma may have to adjust to this new clock, but it shouldn't take him too long to adapt."

"He's so young…" Nanjiroh muttered. "He's barely grown out of boyhood." He looked down at the report in his hand, seeing the words, but not really registering them. His hands shook. He remembered Ryoma as a little boy, barely larger than the tennis racket he held, golden eyes determined, as he tried to bat at the ball approaching him. He'd always doted on his beloved son, and ever though their relationship seemed strained at times, he'd never stopped loving Ryoma, never once loved him any less. In fact, as he watched his son grow from tottering toddler, to smart-ass boy, and into mildly-arrogant adolescence, he could only love Ryoma more. Sometimes, it seemed to him that he was looking at a mirror.

Tezuka's usually cold, expressionless eyes warmed up considerably. "Echizen-san, this is nothing more than an earlier occurrence of what would happen when he goes into university. It is inevitable that he leave your household. In his case, he is only leaving a bit earlier than he would have otherwise."

"He's not even seventeen yet…" Nanjiroh looked at the tea that was growing cold on the table. "He's only just started high school." The papers in his hands shook even more. "He's still just a boy…he's still just my little boy."

"I'll always be your little boy."

Nanjiroh turned sharply to the doorway, where his cat-eyed son stood, leaning against the doorframe. He expected the usual smirk on Ryoma's face, but there was only concern into bright golden eyes of his, only a sad smile on that young face.

"Nothing changes, oyaji…" The term that he usually snorted at seemed…softer. Less disrespectful. "I'll come home to visit on weekends. You can call me on my cell phone if _kaa-san_ needs to talk to me." Nanjiroh fought the urge to smile as he heard the faint sneer there. "You can visit me anytime you like, just call first, since I might be sleeping. Or busy." He touched the brim of his cap. "We can still play tennis—just in the evenings instead. And even that's not too far off from what happens these days, anyway, with school ending so late."

Nanjiroh simply looked back at his son. Where had that snotty little brat disappeared to? His son, so fond of teasing and biting remarks, and occasionally rude barbs, was trying to…comfort him? He glanced down at the cup of tea before him, and was the earthenware being to waver, as his eyes filled with tears. His little boy had grown up so fast, and he had barely even noticed. It seemed like it had only been days before that he'd first put Ryoma's first racket into those tiny, chubby hands.

"Ryoma, you'll take care of yourself over there, won't you?" His mother appeared from the kitchen, where she was cooking up a storm. "Okaa-san won't be there to fold your clothes and make sure you're not hungry, and do your laundry."

Ryoma smiled, his eyes warming into molten gold. "I'll be fine. And I'll just bring my laundry home on weekends."

Ryoma's mother widened her eyes on mock horror. "Unbelievable! How will you _ever_ learn to be independent! No, kaa-san will _not_ continue doing your laundry. I'm afraid, Ryoma-kun, that you'll just have to manage on your own. Right, tou-san?"

Nanjiroh, snorted, more composed now. "Such a brat, expecting your mother to continue cleaning up after you even after you leave the house." He turned his now dry eyes on Ryoma and then Tezuka. "He can go, but I'm holding you responsible for his welfare, Tezuka-san. If anything happens to my little boy, there won't be any place you can hide from me."

Ryoma stifled a snicker. Ah well, he supposed it wouldn't do any harm to allow his father that illusion. Tezuka, on the other hand, took it more seriously. He'd seen what a family member could do, in the dark grips of grief. He nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, Echizen-san. I'll take care of Ryoma as if he were my own family. He sort of is now, isn't he?" He managed a slight smile.

Nanjiroh returned the smile. "I guess so. So you'd better treat him well." With that, he rose. He drained the tea in one gulp, before leaving the room. As he passed by Ryoma on the way out, he snatched the white cap from his son's head. "Guess you won't be needing this anymore, since the sun won't even be out when you play."

He strode to where the large bell that he helped the temple ring. Karupin was waiting there for him. Unlike previous occasions, where he'd jump on his master with flashing claws, he sat there meekly, tail limp. Nanjiroh scratched him behind his ears. "He'll be back for visits…it won't be forever." He twirled the cap perched on his index finger. "It's not like we won't see him anymore, ne, Karupin? He'll come back."

"Mreow?" Karupin hopped nimbly onto his master's lap, and nuzzled the hand that still held the reports, and then he curled up into a soft ball and watched the cap spin and spin. He batted at it, whiskers quivering. And finally, he snagged it with a claw. It landed over him. He purred as his young master's scent enveloped him. He knew better than his master. His long-time friend was gone, and it would be rare times when they'd see him again.

Nanjiroh watched at the cat played with the cap on his finger. The tension that had gripped his chest, the lump in his throat, they began to rise, more intense than ever. He watched the sun set, never noticing when Karupin had managed to get the cap from him. He stroked the Himalayan cat's silky fur absently as he stared into the fiery sky. He felt like it was burning his eyes. Surely that must be why his eyes were feeling so painful, so hot. He clenched his other hand, crumpling the report, as his vision blurred, and then cleared somewhat.

It was slowly sinking in, what his feline pet already knew. Ryoma was gone. That smart-mouthed, irritating, disrespectful little brat was leaving. He thought he'd be prepared for it. But he never knew… His clenched fist released, and the crumpled report slipped from his loose fingers. He never knew that it would feel so empty.

"It'll never be the same, ne, Karupin?"

"Mreow…" Karupin peeked out from beneath Ryoma's cap. He offered his saddened master the cap, but Nanjiroh simply shook his head and smiled sadly. "No, you keep that. It'll remind you of him, ne? Me…I don't need it."

_No, I'll never forget him. My precious little boy…I'll never forget you._

He shifted and laid down on the sun-heated stone. Karupin hopped off long enough to let him get comfortable, before resuming his position on his master. He fell asleep, the flaming sunset in his mind. He missed dinner, and sometime later at night, he stirred momentarily to find himself covered with a thick blanket, he head resting on a pillow. He raised his leaned hand sleepily, and found the cat resting on his stomach, curling around the cap like a protective barrier. He smiled slightly, stroking the warm fur, and then fell back asleep again.

"Oyasumi, Ryoma…and sayonara…"

**A/N:**

I never meant for this chapter to turn out the way it did. I blame it on the music I was listening to as I typed the last section… I'm listening to the music that plays during the ending credits of 'Meet Joe Black'. It's been awhile since I last heard the original version of the two songs in that medley, but I think I find those songs…partially sad too… gaaaaaaaaah… This is the result of my typing while listening to music.

And yes, this chapter is quite a bit shorter than my other chapters. I generally try not to type chapters shorter than 4000 words, but I felt that to continue after the above scene would… lessen the effect somewhat. So the result is a shorter chapter. About 3100 words or so, I think. Hope you enjoyed this.


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